f  California 

Regional 

Facility 


01 


PAETISAN: 


ROMANCE  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


BY  W.  GILMORE 

AUTHOR  or  "THE  YEMASSEE,"  "GUY  RIVEKS,"  "MAKTIN  FABEJJ, 
"RICHARD  HURDIS,"  "BORDER  BEAGLES,"  ETC. 


'•'  And  Liberty's  vitality,  like  Truth, 
Is  still  undying.     Like  the  sacred  fire 
Nature  has  shrined  in  caverns,  still  it  burns 
Though  the  storm  howls  without. 

RETURN  TO 

T-iit>ra,ry  of 
W.  L.  ADAMS. 


CHICAGO,  NEW  YORK  AND  SAN  FRANCISCO! 
BELFORD,  CLARKE  &  CO. 

1888. 


RETURN  TO 

Title  LiTorary  of 
W.  L.  ADAMS. 


THE    PARTISAN. 


CHAPTER   L 

*Oh,  grievous  desolation!  look,  and  see 
Their  sad  condition !    Tii  a  piercing  sight : 
A  country  overthrown  and  crushed — the  scytho 
Gone  over  it  in  wrath — and  sorrowing  Grief 
Dumb  with  her  weight  of  woe." 

OUB  narrative  begins  in  South  Carolina,  during  the  summer  cS 
1780.  The  arms  of  the  British  were  at  that  time  triumphant 
throughout  the  colony.  Their  armies  overran  it.  Charleston,  the 
chief  city,  had  stood  a  siege,  and  had  fallen,  after  a  protracted  and 
honourable  defence  of  eight  weeks  ;  succumbing  finally  to  famine, 
rather  than  the  force  of  arms.  One-half  of  the  military  strength 
of  the  lower  country,  then  the  most  populous  region,  had  become 
prisoners  of  war  by  this  disaster ;  and,  for  the  present,  were  thus 
incapacitated  from  giving  any  assistance  to  their  brethren  in  arms. 
Scattered,  crushed,  and  disheartened  by  repeated  failares,  the  whigs, 
in  numerous  instances,  hopeless  of  any  better  fortune,  had  given  in 
their  adhesion  to  the  enemy,  and  had  received  a  pledge  of  British 
protection.  This  protection  secured  them,  as  it  was  thought,  in 
their  property  and  persons,  and  its  condition  simply  called  for  their 
neutrality.  Many  of  the  more  firm  and  honourably  tenacious,  scorn 
ing  all  compromise  with  invasion,  fled  for  shelter  to  the  swamps  and 
mountains ;  and,  through  the  former,  all  Europe  could  not  have 
tracked  their  footsteps.  In  the  whole  State,  at  this  period,  the  cause 
of  American  liberty  had  no  head,  and  almost"  as  little  hope  :  all  was 
gloomy  and  unpromising.  Marion,  afterwards  styled  the  "  Swamp 
Fox,"  and  Sumter,  the  "  Game  Cock  "—epithets  aptly  descriptive  o*' 


14  THE   PARTISAN. 

'.heir  several  military  attiibutes — had  not  yet  properly  risen  in  arms, 
though  both  of  them  had  been  engaged  already  in  active  and  suc 
cessful  service.  Their  places  of  retreat  were  at  this  time  unknown  ; 
and,  certainly,  they  were  not  then  looked  to,  as  at  an  after  period, 
with  that  anxious  reliance  which  their  valour  subsequently  iaught 
their  countrymen  to  entertain.  Nothing,  indeed,  could  be  inoiv 
deplorably  prostrate  than  were  the  energies  of  the  colony.  Here 
and  there  only  did  some  little  partisan  squad  make  a  sti.ud,  or  oii.-i 
a  show  of  resistance  to  the  inclusive  British  or  the  marauding  and 
malignant  tory — disbanding,  if  not  defeated,  most  usually  after  the 
temporary  object  had  been  obtained,  and  retreating  for  security  into 
shelter  and  inaction.  There  was  no  sort  of  concert,  save  in  feeling, 
among  the  many  who  were  still  not  unwilling  for  the  fight :  they 
doubted  or  they  dreaded  one  another;  they  knew  not  whom  to 
trust.  The  next  door  neighbour  of  the  staunch  whig  was  not  un fre 
quently  a  furious  loyalist — as  devoted  to  George  the  Third  as  I  IK; 
other  could  have  been  to  the  intrinsic  beauty  of  human  liberty. 
The  contest  of  the  Revolution,  so  far  as  it  had  gone,  had  confirmed 
and  made  tenacious  this  pirit  of  hostility  and  opposition,  until,  ir, 
the  end,  patriot  and  loyalist  had  drawn  the  sword  against  one 
another,  and  rebel  and  tory  were  the  degrading  epithets  by  which 
they  severally  distinguished  the  individual  whose  throat  they  strove 
to  cut.  When  the  metropolis  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  British,  and 
their  arms  extended  through  the  State,  the  tories  alone  were  active 
and  formidable.  These,  hitherto  outlawed  in  all  the  provinces,  had 
mostly  sought  shelter  in  Florida;  whence  they  emerged  as  soon  as  (he 
British  arms  had  established  their  ascendency  in  Georgia  and  Caro 
lina.  They  now  took  satisfaction  for  their  own  previous  trials ;  and 
crime  was  never  so  dreadful  a  monster  as  when  they  ministered  to 
its  appetites.  Mingled  in  with  the  regular  troops  of  the  British,  or 
forming  separate  bodies  of  their  own,  and  officered  from  nmonu; 
themselves,  they  penetrated  the  well  known  recesses  which  gave, 
shelter  to  the  fugitives.  If  the  rebel  resisted,  they  slew  him  with 
out  quarter ;  if  he  submitted,  they  hung  him  without  benefit  of 
clergy  :  they  spoiled'- his  children  of  their  possessions,  and  not  uutir.- 
queutly  slew  them  also.  But  lew  sections  of  tUe  low  and  middle 
escaped  their  search  It  was  only  in  the  bald  regions  of 


TABLETON.  15 

Non.»i  Carolina  that  the  fugitives  could  find  repose ;  only  wheie  che 
most  miserable  poverty  took  from  crime  all  temptation,  tliat  the 
beaten  and  maltreated  patriots  dared  to  give  themselves  a  breath 
ing-space  from  flight.  In  the  same  manner  the  frontier-colony  of 
Georgia  had  already  been  overrun  and  ravaged  by  the  conquerors ; 
and  there,  as  it  was  less  capable  of  resistance,  almost  all  show  of 
opposition  had  been  long  since  at  an  end. 

The  invader,  deceived  by  these  appearances,  declared,  in,  swelling 
language,  to  his  monarch,  that  the  two  colonies  were  properly  sub 
jugated,  and  would  now  return  to  their  obedience.  He  knew  not 
•that, 

"Freedom's  battle  once  begun,     . 
Bequeathed  from  bleeding  sire  to  son, 
Thougli  baffled  oft,  is  ever  won." 

But,  though  satisfied  of  the  efficiency  of  his  achievements,  and 
himself  convinced  of  the  truth  of  the  assurances  which  he  had 
.nade  to  this  effect,  the  commander  of  the  British  forces  did  not 
suffer  the  slightest  relaxation  of  his  vigilance.  Earl  Cornwallis,  one 
of  the  best  of  the  many  leaders  sent  by  the  mother-country  to  the 
colonies  in  that  eventful  contest,  had  taken  charge  of  the  southern 
marching  army  soon  after  the  fall  of  Charleston.  He  was  too  good 
a  soldier  to  omit,  or  to  sleep  in  the  performance  of  any  of  his  duties. 
He  proceeded  with  due  diligence  to  confirm  his  conquests ;  and, 
aptly  sustained  by  the  celerity  and  savage  enterprise  of  the  fierce 
legionary,  Colonel  Tarleton,  the  country  was  soon  swept  from  the 
seaboard  to  the  mountains.  This  active  but  cruel  commander, 
who  enacted  the  Claverhouse  in  South  Carolina  with  no  small 
closeness  of  resemblance  to  his  prototype,  was  as  indefatigable  as 
unsparing.  He  plunged  headlong  into  fight,  with  a  courage  the 
most  unscrupulous,  with  little  reflection,  seeming  rather  to  confide  in 
the  boldness  and  impetuosity  of  his  onset  than  to  any  ingenuity  of 
plan,  or  careful  elaborateness  of  manoeuvre.  Add  to  this  that  he 
was  sanguinary  in  the  last  degree  when  triumphant,  and  we  shall 
easily  understand  the  sources  of  that  terror  which  his  very  name 
was  found  to  inspire  among  the  undrilled,  and,  in  half  the  number 
of  instances,  the  unarmed  militia  which  opposed  him.  "  Tarleton's 


Jfl  THE   PARTISAN. 

quarters"  was  the  familiar  and  bitterly-derisive  phrase  by 
when  tLo  whigs  had  opportunities  of  revenge,  his  bloodthirsty  treai- 
ment  of  the  overthrown  and  captive  was  remembered  and  requited. 

The  entire  colony  in  his  possession — all  opposition,  worthy  the 
name,  at  an  end — the  victor,  the  better  to  secure  his  conquest, 
marched  an  army  throughout  the  county.  His  presence,  for  the 
time,  had  the  desired  effect.  His  appearance  quelled  disaffection, 
overawed  all  open  discontents,  and  his  cavalry,  by  superior  skill  and 
rapidity  of  movement,  readily  dispersed  the  little  bands  of  Carol' 
niana  that  here  and  there  fell  li  his  way.  Nor  was  this  exhibition 
of  his  power  the  only  proceeding  by  which  he  laboured  to  secure 
the  fruits  of  his  victory.  With  an  excellent  judgment,  he  esta 
blished  garrisons  in  various  eligible  points  of  the  country,  in  order  to 
overawe  by  his  continual  presence :  these  stations  were  judiciously 
chosen  for  independent  and  co-operative  enterprise  alike  ;  they  were 
Rufficiently  nigh  for  concert — sufficiently  scattered  for  the  general 
control  of  an  extensive  territory.  Rocky  Mount,  Ninety-Six,  Cam- 
den,  Hanging  Rock,  Dorchester,  and  a  large  number  of  military 
posts  besides,  were  thus  created ;  all  amply  provided  with  munitions 
of  war,  well  fortified,  and  garrisoned  by  large  bodies  of  troops  under 
experienced  officers. 

These  precautions  for  a  time  compelled  submission.  The  nu  el 
daring  among  the  patriots  were  silent — the  most  indulgent  of  the 
loyalists  were. active  and  enterprising.  To  crowu  and  secure  all,  Sir 
Henry  Clinton,  who  was  at  this  period  commander-iu-chief  of  the 
southern  invading  army,  proclaimed  a  general  pardon,  with  some 
few  exceptions,  to  all  the  inhabitants,  for  their  late  treasonable 
offences — promising  them  a  full  re-instatement  of  their  old  immu 
nities,  and  requiring  nothing  in  return  but  that  they  should  remain 
quietly  in  their  homes.  This  specious  and  well-timed  indulgent1* 
had  its  due  effect;  and,  in  the  temporary  panic  produced  by  Lin 
coin's  defeat,  the  fall  of  the  metropolis,  the  appearanw  of  an  army 
so  formidable  as  that  of  the  British,  and  the  establishment  of  mili- 
-try  posts  and  fortresses  all  around  them,  the  people  generally  put 
on  a  show  of  acquiescence  to  the  authority  of  the  invader,  which 
few  in  reality  felt,  and  which  many  were  secretly  but  resolutely 
determined  never  to  submit  to. 


GLOOMY   PROSPECT.  17 

Thus  much  is  necessary,  in  a  general  point  of  view,  to  the  better 
x>mprehension  of  the  narrative  which  follows.  The  reader  will 
duly  note  the  situation  of  the  colony  of  South  Carolina  ;  and  when 
we  add,  that  the  existing  condition  of  things  throughout  the  UnioK 
was  only  not  so  bad,  and  the  promise  of  future  fortune  but  little  more 
favourable,  all  has  been  said  necessary  to  his  proper  comprehension 
of  the  discouraging  circumstances  under  which  the  partisan  warfare 
of  the  South  began.  With  this  reference,  we  shall  be  better  able  to 
appreciate  that  deliberate  valour,  that  unyielding  patriotism,  which, 
in  a  few  spirits,  defying  danger  and  above  the  sense  of  privation,  could 
keep  alive  the  sacred  fires  of  liberty  in  the  thick  swamps  and  dense 
and  gloomy  forests  of  Carolina — asking  nothing,  yielding  nothing, 
and  only  leaving  the  field  the  better  to  re-tnter  it  for  the  combat. 
Uot  us  uow  proceed  to  the  commencement  of  our  proper  narrative. 


CHAPTER    II. 

•*  dweet  flow  thy  waters,  Ashley,  and  pleasant  cm  thy  banks 
The  mossy  oak  and  massy  pine  stand  forth  iu  solemn  ranks  ; 
They  fringe  thee  in  a  fitting  guise,  since  with  a  gentle  play. 
Through  bending  groves  and  circling  dells  thou  tak'st  thy  m 
Thine  is  the  summer's  loveliness,  save  when  September  storms 
Arouse  thee  to  the  angry  mood  that  all  thy  face  deforms ; 
And  thine  the  recollection  old  which  makes  thee  proudly  shine, 
When  happy  thousands  saw  thee  rove,  and  Dorchester  was  thine." 

f  HK  scene  is  very  much  altered  now.  Dorchester  bo'  ;ngs  tc 
Ashley  no  longer.  It  is  a  name — a  shadow.  The  people  .  f  e  gone ; 
the  site  is  distinguished  by  its  ruins  only.  The  owl  hoots  through 
the  long  night  from  the  old  church-tower,  and  the  ancient  woods 
and  the  quiet  waters  of  the  river  give  back,  in  melancholy  echoes, 
his  unnoted  cries.  The  Carolinian  looks  on  the  spot  with  a  saddened 
spirit.  The  trees  crowd  upon  the  ancient  thoroughfare  ;  the  brown 
viper  hisses  from  the  venerable  tomb,  and  the  cattle  graze  along  the 
clustering  bricks  that  distinguish  the  ancient  chimney-places.  It 
is  now  one  of  those  prospects  that  kindle  poetry  in  the  most  insensi 
ble  observer.  It  is  one  of  the  visible  dwelling-places  of  Time ;  and 
the  ruins  that  still  mock,  to  a  certain  extent,  his  destructive  pro 
gress,  have  in  themselves  a  painful  chronicle  of  capricioxis  change 
and  various  affliction.  They  speak  for  the  dead  that  lie  beneath 
them  in  no  stinted  number ;  they  record  the  leading  features  of  a 
long  history,  crowded  with  vicissitudes. 

But  our  purpose  now  is  with  the  past,  and  not  with  the  present. 
We  go  back  to  the  time  when  the  village  of  Dorchester  was  full  of 
life,  and  crowded  with  inhabitants ;  when  the  coaches  of  the  wealthy 
planters  of  the  neighbourhood  thronged  the  highway;  when  the 
bells  from  the  steeple  sweetly  calle  1  to  the  Sabbath  worship ;  and 
when,  throughout  the  week,  the  shops  were  crowded  with  buyers, 
and  the  busy  hammer  of  the  mechanic,  and  the  axe  ot  the  labourer, 
sent  up  their  crowding  noises,  imaging,  upon  a  small  scale,  many  of 


FORTRESS   OF   DORCHESTER.  I 

the  more  stirring  attributes  of  the  great  city,  and  all  of  its  life. 
Dorchester  then  had  several  hundred  inhabitants.  The  plan  of  the 
place  lies  before  us  now — a  regularly  laid  out  city,  of  perfect 
squares,  with  its  market-place,  its  hotels,  and  its  churches ;  its  busy 
wharves,  and  its  little  craft  of  sloop  and  schooner,  lying  at  anchor, 
or  skimming  along  the  clear  bosom  of  the  Ashley.  It  had  its  gar 
rison  also,  and  not  the  smallest  portion  of  its  din  and  bustle  arose 
from  the  fine  body  of  red-coated  and  smartly-dressed  soldiers  then 
occupying  the  square  fort  of  tapia-work,  which  to  this  day  stands 
upon  the  hill  of  Dorchester — just  where  the  river  bends  in  with  a 
broad  sweep  to  the  village  site — in  a  singular  state  of  durability  and 
preservation. 

This  fort  commanded  the  river  and  village  alike.  The  old  bridge 
of  Dorchester,  which  crossed  the  Ashley  at  a  little  distance  above  it, 
was  also  within  its  range.  The  troops  at  frequent  periods  paraded 
in  the  market-place,  and  every  art  was  made  use  of  duly  to  impress 
upon  the  people  the  danger  of  any  resistance  to  a  power  so  capable 
to  annoy  and  to  punish.  This  being  the  case,  it  was  amusing  to 
perceive  how  docile,  how  loyal  indeed,  are  those  inhabitants,  who,  but 
a  few  weeks  before  were  in  arms  against  their  present  rulers  and  whc 
now  only  wait  a  convenient  season  to  resume  the  weapons  which 
policy  had  persuaded  them  to  lay  aside. 

None  of  the  villagers  were  more  dutiful  or  devout  in  their  allegi 
ance  than  Richard  Humphries — Old  Dick,  sly  Dick — Holy  Dick, 
as  his  neighbours  capriciously  styled  him — who  kept  the  "  Royal 
George,"  then  the  high  tavern  of  the  village.  The  fat,  beefy  face  of 
the  good-natured  Hanoverian  hung  in  yellow  before  the  tavern 
Uoor,  on  one  of  the  two  main  roads  leading  from  the  country  through 
the  town.  The  old  monarch  had,  in  this  exposed  situation,  under 
gone  repeated  trials.  At  the  commencement  of  the  Revolution,  the 
landlord,  who,  after  the  proverbial  fashion  of  landlords  in  all 
countries,  really  cared  not  who  was  king,  had  been  compelled  by 
public  opinion  to  take  down  the  sign  and  replace  it  with  another 
more  congenial  to  the  popular  feeling.  George,  in  the  mean  time, 
was  assigned  less  conspicuous  lodgings  in  an  ancient  garret.  The 
change  of  circumstances  restored  the  venerable  portrait  to  its  place; 
*nd  under  the  eyes  of  the  British  garrison,  there  were  few  more 


20  THE  PABTISAJf. 

thorough-going  loyalists  in  the  village  than  Richard  Humphries. 
He  was  a  sociable  old  man,  fond  of  driuk,  who  generally  filled  his 
own  glass  whenever  called  upon  to  replenish  that  of  his  customer. 
His  house  was  the  common  thoroughfare  of  the  travelling  and  the 
idle.  The  soldier,  not  on  duty,  found  it  a  pleasant  lounge ;  the 
tory,  confident  in  the  sympathies  of  the  landlord,  and  solicitous 
of  the  good  opinion  of  the  ruling  powers,  made  it  his  regular  re 
sort  ;  and  even  the  whig,  compelled  to  keep  down  his  patriotism, 
ir>  order  to  keep  up  his  credit,  not  unwisely  sauntered  about  in 
the  same  wide  hall  with  the  enemy  he  feared  and  hated,  but  whom 
it  was  no  part  of  his  policy  at  the  present  moment  to  alarm  or  irri 
tate.  Humphries,  from  these  helping  circumstances,  distanced  all 
competition  in  the  village.  The  opposition  house  was  maintained 
by  a  suspected  whig — one  Pryor — who  was  avoided  accordingly. 
Pryor  was  a  sturdy  citizen,  who  asked  no  favors ;  and  if  he  did 
not  avow  himself  in  the  language  of  defiance,  at  the  same  time 
scorned  to  take  any  steps  to  conciliate  patronage  or  do  away  with 
suspicion.  He  simply  cocked  his  hat  at  the  ancient  customer, 
now  passing  to  the  other  house  ;  thrust  his  hands  into  the  pockets 
of  his  breeches,  and,  with  a  manful  resignation,  growled  through 
his  teeth  as  he  followed  the  deserter  with  his  eyes — "  The  white- 
livered  skunk !  He  may  go  and  be  d — d." 

This  sort  of  philosophy  was  agreeable  enough  to  Humphries, 
who,  though  profligate  in  some  respects,  was  yet  sufficiently  world 
ly  to  have  a  close  eye  to  the  accumulation  of  his  sixpences. 
His  household  was  well  served ;  for,  though  himself  a  widower, 
his  daughter  Bella,  a  buxom,  lively,  coquettish,  but  gentle-natured 
creature,  proved  no  common  housekeeper.  She  was  but  a  girl, 
noweyer,  but  sixteen,  and  as  she  had  long  lacked  the  restraining 
presence  of  a  matron,  and  possessed  but  little  dignity  herself,  the 
house  had  its  attractions  for  many,  in  the  freedoms  which  the  old 
man  either  did  not  or  would  not  see,  and  which  the  girl  herself 
was  quite  too  young,  too  innocent,  and  perhaps  too  weak,  often  to 
find  fault  with.  Her  true  protection,  however,  was  in  a  brother 
not  much  older  than  herself,  a  fine  manly  fellow,  and — though 
with  the  cautious  policy  of  all  around  him  suppressing  his  predi 
lections  for  the  time — a  stannch  partisan  of  American  liberty. 


THE   STRANGER.  21 

It  was  on  a  pleasaut  afternoon  in  June,  that  a  tall,  well  made 
youth,  probably  twenty-four  or  twenty -five  years  of  age,  rode  up  to 
ihe  door  of  the  "  Royal  George,"  and  throwing  his  bridle  to  a  servant, 
entered  the  hotel.  His  person  had  been  observed,  and  his  appear 
ance  duly  remarked  upon,  by  several  persons  already  assembled  in 
the  hall  which  he  now  approached.  The  new  comer,  indeed,  was 
not  one  to  pass  unnoticed.  His  person  was  symmetry  itself,  and 
the  ease  with  which  he  managed  his  steed,  the  unhesitating  boldness 
with  which  he  kept  on  his  way  and  gazed  around  him  at  a  period 
and  in  a  place'  where  all  were  timid  and  suspicious,  could  not  fail  to 
fix  attention.  His  face  too,  was  significant  of  a  character  of  com 
mand,  besides  being  finely  intelligent  and  tolerably  handsome  ;  and 
'hough  he  carried  no  weapons  that  were  visible,  there  was  something 
3xceedingly  military  in  his  movement ;  and  the  cap  which  he  wore, 
made  of  some  native  fur  and  slightly  resting  upon  one  side  of  his 
thickly  clustering  brown  hair,  imparted  a  daring  expression  to  his 
look,  which  gave  confirmation  to  the  idea.  Many  were  the  remarks 
of  those  in  the  hall  as,  boldly  dashing  down  the  high  road,  he  left 
the  'church  to  the  right,  and  moving  along  the  market-place,  came 
at  once  towards  the  tavern,  which  stood  on  the  corner  of  Prince 
and  Bridge  streets. 

"  A  bold  chap  with  his  spurs,  that,"  exclaimed  Sergeant  Has 
tings,  of  the  garrison,  who  was  a  frequent  guest  of  the  tavern,  and 
had  found  no  small  degree  of  favour  with  the  landlord's  daughter. 
;' A  bold  chap,  that— do  you  know  him,'  Humphries  2" 

This  question  brought  the  landlord  to  the  window.  He 
looked  intently  upon  the  youth  as  he  approached,  but  seemed 
at  fault. 

"  Know  him  ?  why  yes,  I  think  I  do  know  him,  sergeant  : 
that's— yes — that's — bless  my  soul,  I  don't  know  him  at  all !" 

"Well,  be  sure  now,  Humphries,"  coolly  spoke  the  sergeant. 
"  Such  a  good-looking  fellow  ought  not  to  be  forgotten.  But  he 
'lights,  and  we  shall  soon  know -better." 

A  few  moments,  and  the  stranger  made  his  appearance.  Tho 
landlord  bustled  up  to  him,  and  offered  assistance,  which  the  youth 
declined  for  himself,  but  gave  directions  for  his  horse's  tendance, 

"Shall  be  seen  to,  captain,"  »aid  the  landlord. 


22  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  Wny  do  you  call  me  captain  ?"  demanded  the  youth,  sternly. 

"  Bless  me,  don't  be  angry,  squire ;  but  didn't  you  say  you  was  a 
captain  ?"  apologetically  replied  Humphries. 

"  I  did  not." 

"  Well,  bless  me,  but  I  could  have  sworn  you  did — now  didn't 
he,  gentlemen  ? — sergeant,  did'nt  you  hear — " 

"It  matters  not,"  the  stranger  interrupted;  "  ;.t  matters  not. 
You  were  mistaken,  and  these  gentlemen  need  not  be  appealed  to. 
Save  my  horse  cared  for,  if  you  please.  He  has  come  far  and  fast 
to-day,  and  will  need  a  good  rubbing.  Give  him  Yodder  now,  but 
no  corn  for  an  hour." 

"  It  shall  be  done,  captain." 

"Hark'ee,  my  friend,"  said  the  youth  angrily,  "  you  will  not  style 
me  captain  again,  unless  you  would  have  more  than  you  can  put  u^ 
with.  I  am  no  captain,  no  colonel,  no  commander  of  any  sort,  and 
unless  you  give  me  the  troops,  am  not  willing  to  wear  the  title.  So, 
understand  me." 

"  Ask  pardon,  squire ;  but  it  comes  so  common — ask  pardon, 
sir ;"  and  the  landlord  shuffled  off,  as  he  spoke,  to  see  after  his 
business.  As  he  retired,  Sergeant  Hastings  made  up  to  the  IK-W 
coiner,  and  with  all  the  consequence  of  one  having  a  certain  portion 
of  authority,  and  accustomed  to  a  large  degree  of  deference  from 
those  around  him,  proceeded  to  address  the  youth  on  the  subject 
matter  of  his  momentary  annoyance. 

"  And  with  your  leave,  young  master,  where's  the  harm  in  being 
captain  or  colonel  ?  I  don't  see  that  there's  any  offence  in  it." 

"  None,  none  in  the  world,  sir,  in  being  captain  or  colonel,  but 
some,  I  take  it,  in  being  styled  such  undeservedly.  The  office  is 
good  enough,  and  I  have  no  objections  to  it;  but  I  have  no  humour 
to  be  called  by  any  nickname." 

"  Nickname — why,  d — n  it,  sir — why,  what  do  you  mean?  Do 
you  pretend  that  it's  a  nickname  to  be  called  an  officer  in  his 
majesty's  troops,  sir  ?  If  you  do,  sir — "  and  the  sergeant  concludes 
his  swaggering  speech  with  a  most  stormy  stare. 

"  Pistols  and  daggers  '  most  worthy  officer  in  his  majesty's  troops 
do  not  look  so  dangerous,"  replied  the  youth  very  coolly.  He  saw 
at  a  glance  the  sort  of  Hector  with  whom  he  had  to  deal,  and 


OxN    THE    CIVIL    LIST  2i> 

would  have  answered  him  with  his  boot,  but  that  his  policy  de 
manded  forbearance.  He  continued,  pacifically  :  "  I  have  no  sort 
of  intention  to  oft'end  captain  or  sergeant.  I  only  beg  that,  as  I 
am  neither  one  nor  the  other,  nobody  will  force  me  into  their 
jackets." 

"And  why  not,  young  master?"  said  the  sergeant,  seine  what 
pacified,  but  still,  as  he  liked  not  the  nonchalance  of  the  stranger, 
seemingly  bent  to  press  upon  him  a  more  full  development  of  his 
opinions.  "  Why  not  ?  Is  it  not  honourable,  I  ask  you,  to  hold 
his  majesty's  commission,  and  would  you  not,  as  a  loyal  subject,  be 
eery  glad  to  accept  one  at  his  hasds  ?" 

There  was  no  little  interest  manifested  by  the  spectator  as  this 
question  was  put,  and  they  gathered  more  closely  about  the  bebet 
si  ranger,  but  still  keeping  at  a  deferential  distance  from  the  sergeant. 
He,  too,  looked  forward  to  the  reply  of  the  youth  with  somo  interest. 
His  head  was  advanced  and  his  arms  akimbo,  and,  stationed  in 
front  of  the  person  he  examined,  in  the  centre  of  the  hall,  his  clum 
sy  compact  person  and  round  rosy  face  looked  exceedingly  imposing 
in  every  eye  but  that  of  the  person  for  whose  especial  sight  their 
various  terrors  had  been  put  on.  The  youth  seemod  annoyed  by 
the  pertinacity  of  his  assailant,  but  he  made  an  effort  at  composure, 
and  after  a  brief  pause  replied  to  the  inquiry. 

"  Honourable  enough,  doubtless.  I  know  nothing  about  the  em 
ployment,  and  cannot  say.  As  for  taking  a  commission  at  his 
majesty's  hands,  I  don't  know  that  I  should  do  any  such  ching." 

The  declaration  produced  a  visible  emotion  in  the  assembly. 
One  or  two  of  the  spectators  slid  away  silently,  and  the  rest  seemed 
variously  agitated,  while  at  the  same  time,  one  person  whom  the 
stranger  had  not  before  seen — a  stout,  good-looking  man,  seemingly 
in  humble  life,  and  not  over  his  own  age — came  forward,  and,  with 
nothing  ostentatious  in  his  manner,  placed  himself  alongside  of  the 
man  who  had  so  boldl}r  declared  himself.  Sergeant  Hastings 
seemed  for  an  instant  almost  paralysed  by  what  appeared  the  auda 
city  t-f  the  stranger.  At  length,  detaching  hi?  sword  partially  from 
the  nheath,  so  that  a  few  inches  of  the  blade  became  visible,  ke 
.•coked  round  with  a  potential  aspect  upon  the  company,  and  then 
proceeded — 


24  THE   PARTISAN. 

"Ha!  not  take  a  commission  from  the  Lands  of. his  majesty  1 
Ibis  looks  suspicious  !  And  pray,  sir,  tell  us  why  you  would  not 
accept  his  majesty's  commission  ?" 

Unmoved  by  the  solemnity  of  the  proceeding,  the  youth  with  the 
utmost  quietness  replied — 

"  For  the  very  best  reason  in  the  world — I  should  scarcely  know 
what  to  do  with  it." 

"  Oh,  that's  it  !"  said  the  sergeant.  "  And  so  you  are  really  not 
mi  officer  ?" 

"  No.  I've  been  telling  you  and  this  drinking  fellow,  the  land 
lord,  all  the  time,  that  I  am  no  officer,  and  yet  neither  of  you  seems 
satisfied.  Nothing  will  do,  but  you  will  put  me  in  his  majesty's 
commission,  and  make  me  a  general  and  what  not,  whether  I  will 
or  no.  But  where's  the  man  ? — Here,  landlord!" 

"  Father's  out,  can  I  serve,  sir  ?"  said  a  soft  voice,  followed  by 
the  pretty  maid  of  the  inn,  the  fair  Bella  Humphries,  whose  person 
was  now  visible  behind  the  bar. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  you  can  ;"  and  as  the  stranger  youth  spoke,  and 
the  maid  courtesied,  he  tapped  her  gently  upon  the  cheek,  and 
begged  that  he  might  be  shown  his  apartment,  stating,  at  the  same 
time,  the  probability  that  he  would  be  an  inmate  for  several  days 
of  the  tavern.  The  sergeant  scowled  fiercely  at  the  liberty  thus 
taken,  and  the  youth  could  not  help  seeing  that  the  eye  of  the  girl 
sank  under  the  glance  that  the  former  gave  her.  He  said  nothing, 
however,  and  taking  in  his  hand  the  little  fur  valise  that  he  carried, 
the  only  furniture,  besides  saddle  and  bridle,  worn  by  his  horse,  he 
followed  the  steps  of  Bella,  who  soon  conducted  him  to  his  cham 
ber,  and  left  him  to  those  ablutions  which  a  long  ride  along  a  sandy 
road  had  rendered  particularly  necessary. 

The  sergeant  meanwhile  was  not  so  well  satisfied  with  what  had 
taken  place.  He  was  vexed  that  he  had  not  terrified  the  youth — 
vexed  at  his  composure — vexed  that  he  had  tapped  Bella  Humphries 
upon  her  cheek,  and  doubly  vexed  that  she  had  submitted  with  such 
excellent  grace  to  the  aforesaid  tapping.  The  truth  is,  Sergeant 
Hastings  claimed  some  exclusive  privileges  with  the  maiden.  He 
was  her  regular  gallant — bestowed  upon  her  the  greater  part  of  hit 
idle  time,  and  had  flattered  himself  that  he  stood  alone  in  her  esti- 


SUSPICIONS.  25 

mation ;  and  so,  perhaps,  lie  did.  His  attentions  had  given  him  a 
large  degree  of  influence  over  her,  and  what  with  his  big  speech, 
swaggering  carriage,  and  flashy  uniform,  poor  Bella  had  long  since 
been  taught  to  acknowledge  his  power  over  her  fancy.  But  the 
girl  was  coquettish,  and  her  very  position  as  maid  of  the  inn  had 
contributed  to  strengthen  and  confirm  the  natural  predisposition. 
The  kind  words  and  innocent  freedoms  of  the  handsome  stranger 
were  not  disagreeable  to  her,  and  she  felt  not  that  they  interfered 
with  the  claims  of  the  sergeant,  or  would  be  so  disagreeable  to  him, 
until  she  beheld  the  scowling  glance  with  which  he  surveyed  them. 

In  the  hall  below,  to  which  the  landlord  had  now  returned,  Has 
tings  gave  utterance  to  the  spleen  which  this  matter  had  occa 
sioned. 

"  That's  an  impudent  fellow — a  very  impudent  fellow,  i  don't 
like  him,  at  all !" 

The  landlord  looked  up  timidly.     "And  what,  sergeant — what!" 

"  I  say,  I  don't  like  him.     I  suspect  him  !" 

"  Suspect !  God  ha'  mercy  ;  and  who  do  you  think — who  do 
you  think  he  is,  sergeant  ?" 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  I  asked  you :  you  know  every  thing ; 
at  least,  you  pretend  to.  Why  are  you  out  here  ?  Who  is  he  ?" 

"  Bless  me,  I  can't  say ;  I  don't  know." 

"  What  do  you  think  he  is  ?" 

"Think!  I  think!  oh!  no!  no!  I  don't  think." 

"  He  certainly  is  an  impudent — a  very  suspicious  person." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  sergeant  ?"  asked  one  of  the  persons  present, 
with  an  air  of  profound  alarm. 

"  I  do — a  very  suspicious  person — one  that  should  be  watched 
narrowly." 

"I  see  nothing  suspicious  about  him,"  said  another,  the  same  in 
dividual  who  had  placed  himself  beside  the  stranger  when  the  wrath 
of  the  sergeant  was  expected  to  burst  upon  him,  and  when  he  had 
actually  laid  his  hand  upon  his  sword.  "  I  see  nothing  suspicious 
about  the  stranger,"  said  the  speaker,  boldly,  "except  that  he  doesn't 
like  to  be  troubled  with  foolish  questions." 

"  Foolish  questions — foolish  questions !  Bless  me,  John  Davis, 
do  you  know  ?  IP!  you're  a  saying  ?"  The  landlord  spoke  in  great 

2 


26  THE    PARTISAN. 

trepidation,  an!  placed  himself, as  he  addressed  John  Davis,  between 
him  and  the  sergeant. 

"  Yes,  I  know  perfectly  what  I  say,  Master  Humphries ;  and  I 
say  it's  very  unmannerly,  the  way  in  which  the  stranger  has  been 
pestered  with  foolish  questions.  I  say  it.  and  I  say  it  again  ;  and  1 
don't  care  who  hears  it.  I'm  ready  to  siand  up  to  what  J  say." 

"  Bless  me,  the  boy's  mad  !  Now,  sergeant,  don't  mind  him — 
he's  only  foolish,  you  see." 

"  Mind  him — oh  no  !  Look  you,  young  man,  do  you  see  that 
tree  ?  It  won't  take  much  treason  to  tuck  you  up  there." 

"  Treason,  indeed  !  I  talk  no  treason,  Sergeant  Hastings,  and  I 
defy  you  to  prove  any  agin  me.  I'm  not  to  be  frightened  this  time 
o'  day,  I'd  have  you  to  know ;  and  though  you  are  a  sodger,  and 
wear  a  red  coat,  let  me  tell  you  there  is  a  tough  colt  in  the  woods 
that  your  two  legs  can't  straddle.  There  is  no  treason  in  that,  for  it 
only  concerns  one  person,  and  that  one  person  is  your  own  self, 
and  I'm  as  good  a  man  as  you  any  day." 

"  You  d — d  rebel,  is  it  so  you  speak  to  a  sergeant  in  his  ma 
jesty's  service?  Take  that" — and  with  the  words,  with  his  sword 
drawn  at  the  instant,  he  made  a  stroke  with  the  flat  of  it  at  the 
head  of  tha  sturdy  disputant,  which,  as  the  latter  somewhat  antici 
pated  the  assault,  he  was  prepared  to  elude.  This  was  done 
adroitly  enough,  and  with  a  huge  club  which  stood  conveniently  in 
the  come/,  lie  had  prepared  himself  without  fear  to  guard  against 
a  repetit4  ;>u  of  the  attack,  when  the  stranger,  about  whom  the  coil 
liad  arisen,  suddenly  made  his  appearance,  and  at  once  interposal 
Between  the  parties. 


CHAPTER    III. 


'  •  h  in  a  wntten  bondage  —  writ  in  «tripes, 
And  letterM  in  our  blood.     Like  beaten  huniulg, 
We  crom-h  and  cry,  but  clench  not  —  lick  the  hand 
That  strikes  and  scourges." 


HASTINGS  turned  furiously  at  the  interruption  ;  but  tbv 
though  entirely  unarmed,  stood  his  ground  firmly,  and  Hooked  on 
him  with  composure. 

"  That's  a  bright  sword  you  wear,"  said  he,  "  but  it  is  scarcely  a 
good  stroke,  and  anything  but  a  gallant  one,  Master  Sergeant, 
which  you  make  with  it.  How  now,  is  it  the  fashion  wnh  British 
soldiers  to  draw  upon  unarmed  men  ?" 

The  person  addressed  turned  upon  the  speaker  with  a  scowl 
which  seemed  to  promise  that  he  would  transfer  some  portion  of 
his  anger  to  the  new  comer.  He  had  nr  time,  however,  to  do  more 
than  look  his  wrath  at  the  interruption  ;  for  among  the  many  per 
sons  whom  the  noise  had  brought  to  the  scene  of  action  was  tho 
Fair  Bella  Humphries  herself.  The  maid  of  the  inn  —  accustomed 
probably  to  quell  such  conflicts  by  her  beauty  and  persuasions  — 
waited  not  an  instant  to  place  herself  between  the  parties,  and,  as 
•f  her  own  interest  in  the  persons  concerned  gave  her  an  especial 
•ight  in  the  matter,  she  fearlessly  passed  under  the  raised  weapon 
)l  Hastings,  addressing  him  imploringly,  and  with  an  air  of  inti- 
'nary,  vvnich  was,  perhaps,  the  worst  feature  in  the  business.  So, 
it  least,  the  individual  appeared  to  think  to  whose  succour  she  had 
i-orne.  His  brow  blackened  still  more  at  her  approach,  and  when 
she  interfered  to  prevent  strife,  a  muttered  curse,  half-audible,  rose 
to  h's  lips.  Brandishing  the  club  which  he  had  wielded  with  no 
iit;;*i3  ~eadiness  before,  he  seemed  more  than  ever  desirous  of  renew- 
,ng  to.e  combat,  though  with  all  its  disadvantages.  But  the  parties 
around  generally  interfered  to  prevent  the  progress  of  the  strife  • 


28  THE  PARTISAN". 

and  Bella,  whose  mind  seemed  perfectly  assured  of  Hastings'  invin 
cibility,  addressed  her  prayers  only  to  him,  and  in  behalf  of  the 
other. 

"Now  don't  strike,  Sergeant — don't  I  pray  !  John  is  only  foolish, 
and  don't  mean  any  harm.  Strike  him  not,  I  beg  you! " 

"Beg  for  yourself,  Bella  Humphries — I  don't  want  any  of  your 
begging  for  me.  I'm  no  chicken,  and  can  hold  my  own  any  day 
against  him.  So  don't  come  between  us — you  in  particular— you  had 
better  keep  away." 

The  countryman  spoke  ferociously  ;  and  his  dark  eye,  long  black 
hair,  and  swarthy  cheek,  all  combined  to  give  the  expression  of 
fierce  anger  which  his  words  expressed,  a  lively  earnestness  not  ill- 
adapted  to  sustain  them.  The  girl  looked  on  him  reproachfully  as 
he  spoke,  though  a  close  observer  might  have  seen  in  her  features  a 
something  of  conscious  error  and  injustice.  It  was  evident  that 
Ihe  parties  had  been  at  one  period  far  more  intimate  than  now  ; 
and  the  young  stranger,  about  whom  the  coil  began,  saw  in  an 
instant  the  true  situation  of  the  twain.  A  smile  passed  over  his 
features,  but  did  not  rest,  as  his  eye  took  in  at  a  glance  the  twofold 
expression  of  Bella's  face,  standing  between  her  lovers,  preventing 
the  fight — scowled  on  furiously  by  the  one,  and  most  affectionately 
leered  at  by  the  other.  Her  appeal  to  the  sergeant  was  so  compli 
mentary,  that  even  were  he  not  half-ashamed  of  what  he  had  al 
ready  done  in  commencing  a  contest  so  unequal,  he  must  have 
yielded  to  it  and  forborne.  Some  of  his  moderation,  too,  might 
have  arisen  from  his  perceiving  the  hostile  jealousy  of  spirit  with 
which  his  rival  regarded  her  preference  of  himself.  His  vanity 
was  enlisted  in  the  application  of  the  maiden,  and  with  a  becoming 
fondness  of  expression  in  his  glance,  turning  to  the  coquette,  he  gave 
her  to  understand,  while  thrusting  his  sword  back  into  the  scabbard, 
that  he  consented  to  mercy  on  the  score  of  her  application.  Still,  as 
Davis  held  out  a  show  of  fight,  and  stood  snugly  ensconded  behind 
his  chair  defying  and  even  inviting  assault,  it  was  necessary  that  the 
sergeant  should  draw  off  honourably  from  the  contest.  While  return 
ing  the  weapon  to  the  sheath,  therefore  he  spoke  to  his  enemy  in 
language  of  indulgent  warning,  not  unmixed  with  the  military  threats 
common  at  the  period — 


TMRSATS.  29 

"  Hark  you,  good  fellow — you're  but  a  small  man  to  look  out  *> 
danger,  and  there's  too  little  of  you,  after  all,  for  me  to  look  af,er 
I  let  you  off  this  time ;  but  you're  on  ticklish  territory,  and  if  yoi 
move  but  one  side  or  the  other,  you're  but  a  lost  man  after  all. 
It's  not  a  safe  chance  to  show  rebel  signs  on  the  king's  highway, 
and  you  have  an  ugly  squinting  at  disaffection.  My  eyes  are  on 
you  now,  and  if  I  but  see  you  wink,  or  hear  you  hint,  treason,— ay, 
treason,  rebellion — I  see  it  in  your  eyes,  I  tell  you, — but  wink  it  or 
look  it  again,  and  you  know  it's  short  work,  very  short  work, 
and  a  shorter  journey,  to  the  tight  rope  and  the  branching  tree." 

The  speaker  looked  round  significantly  upon  the  company  as  he 
uttered  a  warning  and  threat,  which,  though  addressed  particularly 
to  the  refractory  countryman,  were  yet  evidently  as  much  meant 
for  the  benefit  of  the  rest.  Not  that  the  worthy  sergeant  had  any 
reason  fa*  ottering  language  which,  in  all  respects,  seemed  so  gra 
tuitous  ;  but  this  was  of  a  piece  with  the  wantonly  injudiciou? 
habit  of  his  superiors,  from  whom,  with  the  readiness  of  inferiority 
and  sycophancy,  he  made  free  to  borrow ;  and,  with  as  little  dis 
crimination,  quite  as  frequently  employed  it,  not  less  for  •'he  grati 
fication  of  his  vanity  than  for  the  exercise  of  his  power.  The 
speech  had  something  of  its  usual  effect, — keeping  in  silence  those 
whose  love  to  talk  might  have  prompted  to  occasional  remark, 
though  without  any  serious  feeling  in  the  matter ;  and  subduing 
thoroughly  all  demonstrations  of  dislike  on  the  part  of  the  few, 
who,  feeling  things  more  deeply,  might  be  disposed  rather  to  act 
than  to  speak,  when  under  such  provocation.  Whatever  the  per 
sons  around  may 'have  felt  at  the  moment,  they  were  generally 
prudent  enough  to  be  silent.  Old  Humphries  alone,  with  uplifted 
hands,  now  somewhat  touched  with  liquor,  and  seeing  all  danger 
over,  came  forward,  and  hobbling  up  to  the  sergeant,  cried  out,  in 
reply — 

"  Why,  bless  us,  sergeant,  you  talk  as  if  you  were  among  the  ene 
mies  of  his  majesty,  and  not  among  his  good  friends  and  well-wishers. 
Now,  I'm  sure  I  can  answer  for  all  here.  There's  Jones  and  Baxter, 
Lyons  and  Tom  Walker  there — all  for  the  crown, — right  loyal  good 
fellows,  wh"  drink  the  health  of  King  Gsorge — God  bless  him! — 
whenever  they  can  get  a  drink ;  and  as  for  Jack  Davis,  bless  us,  «wi 
2 


30  THE   PARTISAN. 

geant,  there's  no  better  boy  in  Goose  Creek,  though  lie  is  cross  and 
snappish  when  his  fit's  on,  and  no  chicken  either,  as  he  says  himself. 
He'll  fight  for  his  majesty  any  day,  I  know.  There's  no  mistake  in 
him — there's  no  mistake  in  any  of  the  boys — I  can  answer  for  all 
that's  here  except — "  and  here  the  landlord  paused  in  one  of  the 
longest  speeches  he  had  ever  made,  and  his  eye  rested  doubtfully 
upon  the  person  of  the  stranger. 

"Except  me,"  said  the  latter,  coming  forward,  looking  Hastings 
attentively  in  the  face  as  he  spoke,  and  at  the  same  time  placing  his 
hand  with  some  little  emphasis  upon  the  shoulders  of  old  Humphries, 
— "except  me,  Master  Humphries,  for  whom  you  can  say  nothing — 
of  whom  you  know  nothing — but  about  whom  you  are  excessively 
curious.  You  only  know  I  am  not  a  captain,  nor  yet  a  colonel ;  and 
as  I  have  not  satisfied  your  desires  on  these  subjects,  of  course  you 
cannot  answer  for  my  loyalty." 

"Bless  me,  no  ;  that  I  can't,  stranger." 

"  But  I  can  answer  for  myself  and  prefer  to  do  so,  Master  Hum 
phries,  and  that's  enough  for  all  parties  ;  and  I  can  say,  as  you  have 
already  said  for  these  gentlemen,  that  my  loyalty  is  quite  as  good  as 
that  of  any  around  me,  as  we  shall  all  see  in  due  season.  And  now 
that  this  quarrel  is  ended,  let  me  only  beg  of  the  worthy  sergeant 
here,  that  he  may  not  be  so  quick  to  draw  his  weapon  upon  the  man 
that  is  unarmed.  The  action  is  by  no  means  so  creditable  to  the 
soldier,  and  one  that  he  may,  most  probably,  in  time,  come  to  be 
ashamed  of." 

The  perfect  coolness  and  self-possession  of  the  stranger,  in  this 
brief  interlude,  confounded  Hastings  not  less  than  it  did  the  rest. 
He  knew  not  in  what  character  to  behold  him,  and,  but  that  he  was 
rather  stolid  than  otherwise,  might  have  exhibited  traces  of  that  con 
fusion  which  his  mind  certainly  felt.  But  the  air  of  superiority 
which  the  other  manifested,  annoyed  him  too  greatly  to  give  way  to 
doubt  or  indctermination  ;  and  he  was  about  to  answer  roughly, 
when  a  remark  which  Davis  made,  of  a  churlish  nature,  to  the 
coquettish  Bella  Humphries,  who  still  lingered  beside  the  sergeant, 
attracted  the  latter's  attention,  and  giving  a  glance  to  the  speaker, 
lie  threw  his  collected  spleen  in  that  quarter,  while  addressing  the 
girl— 


STUBBORN    JOHN   DAVIS.  31 

ilS^  1*0  vr,  that's  the  good  you  get  for  saving  him  from  punish 
uieiit.  He  doesn't  thank  you  at  all  for  what  you've  done." 

''  No,  that  I  don't!"  cried  the  incorrigible  Davis :  "  I  owe  her  as 
ittle  thanks  as  I  owe  you  kindness, — and  I'll  pay  off  both  some 
cay.  I  can  hold  my  own  without  her  help;  and  as  for  her  begging, 
I  r"on't  want  it — I  won't  have  it — and  I  despise  it." 

"What's  that?"  cried  Hastings,  with  a  show  of  returning 
choler. 

"Nothing,  sergeant,  nothing;  don't  mind  what  he  says;  Le's 
only  foolish,  and  don't  mean  any  harm.  Now  take  your  hand  away 
from  the  sword,  I  beg  you." 

The  girl  looked  so  prettily,  as  she  prayed  him  to  be  quiet,  that 
the  soldier  relented.  Her  deferential  solicitude  was  all-influential, 
and  softened  much  of  the  harsh  feeling  that  might  have  existed  in 
his  bosom.  Taking  her  arm  into  his  own,  with  a  consequential 
strut,  and  throwing  a  look  of  contempt  upon  his  rival  as  he  passed, 
the  conqueror  moved  away  into  the  adjoining  apartment,  to  which, 
as  his  business  seems  private  at  present,  we  shall  not  presume  to  fol 
low  him. 

His  departure  was  the  signal  for  renovated  life  in  several  of  those 
persons  who,  in  the  previous  scene,  seemed  quiescent  enough.  They 
generously  came  forward  to  Davis  with  advice  and  friendly  counsel 
to  keep  himself  out  of  harm's  way,  and  submit,  most  civilly,  like  a 
good  Christian,  to  the  gratuitous  blow  and  buffet.  The  most  elo 
quent  among  them  was  the  landlord. 

"  Now,  bless  me,"  said  he,  "  John,  my  dear  boy,  why  will  you  be 
after  striving  with  the  sergeant  ?  You  know  you  can't  stand  against 
him,  and  where's  the  use  ?  He's  quite  too  tough  a  colt  for  you  to 
manage,  now,  I  tell  you." 

"  So  you  think,  Master  Humphries — so  you  think.  Hut  I'm  not 
so  sure  of  it,  now,  by  half.  I  can  stand  a  thump  as  well  as  any 
liirtii — and  I  haint  lived  so  long  in  Goose  Creek  not  to  knaw  how  to 
give  one  too.  But  how  you  stand  it — you,  I  say,  Dick  Humphries 
—I  don't  altogether  see." 

"  Eh,  John — how  I  stand  it  ?  Bless  us,  what  do  you  mean,  boy ! 
He  don't  trouble  me — he  don't  threaten  me — I'm  a  good  subject  to 
tm-tn^esty." 


32  THE   PARTISAN.  „ 

The  youth  laughed  irreverently,  and  the  stranger  who  had  been 
standing  apart,  but  still  within  hearing,  noted  the  incident  with  con 
siderable  show  of  interest  in  his  countenance. 

"And  what  do  you  laugh  at,  John?  Don't  boy — I  pray  you, 
don't.  Let's  have  a  glass  together,  and  don't  trouble  yourself  to  be 
laughing  again;  there's  danger  in  it;  Conie:  a  glass. — Good  old 
Jamaica!  Won't  you  join  us,  stranger?  " 

The  youth  declined,  and  Davis  proceeded — 

"  Why  do  I  laugh,  Master  Humphries,?  In  truth  I  ought  not  to 
laugh  when  I  see  " 

Here  he  paused,  and  with  a  'praiseworthy  delicacy,  he  whispered 
in  the  old  man's  ear  his  objections  to  the  large  degree  of  intimacy 
existing  between  the  British  sergeant  and  his  pretty  daughter. 

"^Oh,  go,  John!  there's  no  harm  boy.  You'se  only  jealous  'cause 
she  turned  you  off." 

"Turned  me  off,  indeed!"  responded  the  other,  indignantly  and 
aloud — "  turned  me  off!  No,  master  Humphries — not  so  bad  neither. 
But  it's  no  use  talking — you'll  know  all  in  time,  and  will  wish  you 
had  minded  what  I  told  you.  But  go  your  own  gait,  you'll  grow 
fatter  upon  it;  "  and  with  this  not  very  nice  proverb  the  disappointed 
lover  turned  away  without  taking  the  proffered  Jamaica. 

This  scene  had  not  been  lost  on  the  stranger  youth,  though 
little  regarded  by  the  other  personages,  who  had  each  made  his 
speech  and  taken  his  drink  and  departure.  There  was  much  more 
spoken  that  we  do  not  care  to  record,  but  which,  duly  noted  by  the 
one  observer  to  whom  we  have  made  especial  reference,  was  held  not 
unworthy  in  his  mind  of  proper  consideration.  He  had  seen  a 
dogged  disposition  on  the  part  of  Davis  to  break  and  quarrel  with 
the  British  sergeant;  and  though  he  clearly  saw  that  much  of  this 
disposition  arose,  as  old  Humphries  had  asserted,  from  a  jealous 
dislike  of  the  intimacy  between  Bella  and  the  person  in  question, 
he  yet  perceived  that  many  of  the  phrases  made  use  of  by  the 
countrymen  indicated  anything  but  respect  or  good  feeling  for  the 
British  authority.  There  was  a  sturdy  boldness  in  his  air  and  man 
ner,  when  the  other  spoke  to  him  of  treason,  which  said  that  the 
crime  was,  after  all,  a  venial  one  in  his  mind;  and  this  disposition, 
perceptible  as  it  must  have  been  to  the  sergeant,  not  less  than  to 


^  BRITISH    WISDOM.  33 

stranger,  might  doubtless  have  prompted  much  of  that  violence  on 
his  part  which  had  been  so  happily  and  in  time  arrested.  Nor  was 
there  anything  precipitate  or  uncommon  in  what  the  sergeant  had 
done.  Such  exhibitions  were  frequent  in  the  bitter  and  unscrupulous 
warfare  of  the  south.  The  word  and  the  blow,  and  usually  the 
blow  first,  was  the  habitual  mode  of  silencing,  not  treason  merely, 
but  all  manner  of  opposition;  and  this  was  the  injudicious  course 
by  which  the  British,  regarding  South  Carolina  as  a  conquered  pro 
vince,  revolted  the  popular  feeling  from  all  sympathy  with  their 
authority,  and  provoked  that  spirit  of  determined  resistance  and 
hostility  which,  in  a  few  weeks  only  after  this  event,  blazed  up 
throughout  the  whole  colony,  from  one  end  to  the  other,  and  com 
menced  that  series  of  harassing  operations,  the  partisan  warfare, 
which,  in  spite  of  frequent  defeats,  cut  off  the  foraging  parties  of 
the  British  army  destroyed  its  resources,  diminished  its  exercise,  con 
tracted  its  sphere  of  operations  daily,  and  in  the  end,  drove  the  invader 
to  the  seaboard,  and  from  thence  to  his  departing  vessels. 

Old  HumplM'ies  followed  Davis  to  the  door,  and  again  renewed 
his  exhortation.  The  landlord  seemed  to  have  a  good  feeling  for  his 
guest,  who  had  probably  been  a  crony  of  his  own,  and  a  favoured 
lover  of  his  daughter,  before  the  British  army  had  made  its 
appearance  to  compel  a  change  of  political  sentiment  in  the  one, 
or  a  British  sergeant,  in  his  red  coat  and  round  face,  to  effect  as 
great  a  revolution  in  the  bosom  of  the  other.  His  object  seemed  to 
be  to  persuade  Davis  into  a  more  cautious  utterance,  when  speaking 
of  the  existing  powers;  and  he  warned  him  of  the  unhesitating 
nature  of  the  enemy  when  punishing  what  they  held  rebellion,  and 
of  the  severe  kinds  of  punishment  put  in  exercise  on  such  occa 
sions.  But,  whether  it  was  that  the  youth  really  felt  sorely,  too 
sorely  for  calm  reflection,  the  loss  of  his  sweetheart — or  whether  the 
assault  of  the  sergeant  had  opened  his  eyes  to  the  doubtful  tenure 
by  which  the  American  held  his  security  under  the  rule  that  now 
prevailed  throughout  the  land — may  not  well  be  said;  but  there 
was  a  reckless  audacity  in  his  replies  to  the  friendly  suggestions  of 
the  landlord,  which  half  frightened  the  latter  personage  out  of  his 
wits. 

"I'd  rather  eat  acorns,  now,  Master  Humphries,  I  tell  you,  and 


34  THE   PARTISAN. 

sleep  in  the  swamps  in  August,  than  hush  my  tongue  when  I  feel 
it's  right  to  speak.  They  shan't  crow  over  me,  though  I  die  for  it; 
and  let  them  look  out;  for  I  tell  you  now,  Dick  Humphries,  flesh 
and  blood  can't  stand  their  parsecutions .  There's  no  chance  for 
life,  let  'lone  property.  Look  how  they  did  Frampton's  wife,  and 
she  in  such  a  way;  and  only  three  days  ago  they  tied  up  Tom  Ray- 
sor's  little  boy  Ben,  and  gave  him  a  matter  of  fifty  lashes  with 
hickories  thick  as  my  thumb,  and  all  because  the  boy  wouldn't  tell 
where  his  father  was  hiding." 

"But  you  see,  John,  that  all  came  of  the  hiding,  If  Frampton 
and  Raysor  had  not  taken  to  the  swamp,  the  old  lady  would  have 
been  let  alone,  and  the  boy  wouldn't  have  been  whipt.  Aint  they  in 
arms  now  against  his  majesty?" 

"Yes;  and  if  his  majesty  goes  on  after  this  fashion  there  will  be 
a  few  more,  I  can  tell  you.  Now,  you  yourself,  Dick  Humphries,  I 
put  it  to  yourself,  whether  the  thing's  right,  and  whether  we  ought 
to  stand  it.  Now,  I  know  you  of  old,  and  know  you're  no  more  a 
loyalist  than — " 

"  Hush!  Bless  us,  John  Davis,  how  you  talk,  boy!  hush,  hush!  " 
and  with  an  air  of  the  greatest  trepidation,  looking  round  and  per 
ceiving  that,  though  the  stranger  appeared  to  be  reading  very  ear 
nestly  from  the  pages  of  the  "  Royal  (Charleston)  Gazette,"  he 
was  yet  within  hearing,  the  landlord  led  his  companion  farther  from 
the  door,  and  the  conversation,  as  it  proceeded  to  its  conclusion,  was 
entirely  lost  to  all  ears  but  their  own.  It  was  not  long  before 
Humphries  returned  to  the  hall,  and  endeavoured  to  commence  a 
sort  of  desultory  dialogue  with  the  stranger  guest,  whose  presence 
have  produced  the  previous  quarrel.  But  this  personage  seemed  to 
desire  no  such  familiarly,  for  scarcely  had  the  old  man  begun,  when 
throwing  down  the  sheet  he  had  been  reading,  and  thrusting  upon 
his  head  the  rakish  cap  which  all  the  while  had  rested  on  his  knee, 
he  rose  from  his  seat,  and  moving  rapidly  to  the  door  of  the  apart 
ment,  followed  the  steps  of  Davis,  whom  he  beheld  pursuing  his  way 
along  the  main  bridge  road  and  towards  the  river.  The  path  was 
clear  in  this  quarter;  not  a  solitary  being  but  themselves  was  to  be 
seen — by  them  at  least.  In  the  centre  of  the  bridge — a  crazy 
structure  of  ill-adjusted  timber  thrown  over  a  point  of  the  stream 


THE   STRANGER   CURIOUS.  35 

where  it  most  narrowed — the  pursuing  stranger  overtook  the  moodily- 
wandering  countryman.  He  stopped  him  in  his  progress  till  he 
could  come  up  with  him  by  a  friendly  hail;  and,  freely  approaching 
him,  tendered  him  his  open  hand  in  a  cordial  salutation.  The  other 
grasped  it  with  honest  pleasure. 

"Master  Davis,  for  such  I  believe  is  your  name,"  said  the  stranger, 
frankly,  "  I  owe  you  many  thanks  for  so  readily,  though  I  must  say 
rashly,  taking  up  my  quarrel.  I  understand  that  your  brush  with 
that  soldier-fellow  was  on  my  account;  and  though,  like  yourself,  I 
need  nobody  to  fight  my  battles,  I  must  yet  thank  you  for  the  good 
spirit  which  you  have  shewn  in  this  matter." 

"  No  thanks,  stranger.     I  don't  know  what  name  to  call  you — " 

"  No  matter;  names  are  unnecessary,  and  the  fewer  known  the 
better  in  these  doubtful  times.  I  care  not  to  utter  mine,  though  it 
has  but  little  value.  Call  me  what  you  please."  The  other  looked 
surprised,  but  still  satisfied,  and  replied  after  this  fashion — 

"Well,  stranger,  as  I  said,  you  owe  me  no  thanks  at  all  in  this 
affair;  for  though  I  did  take  up  the  matter  on  your  hook,  it  was 
because  I  had  a  little  sort  of  hankering  to  take  it  up  on  my  own.  I 
have  long  had  a  grudge  at  that  fellow,  and  I  didn't  care  much  on 
whose  score  it  began,  so  it  had  a  beginning." 

"  He  has  done  you  wrong?"  half  affirmatively,  half  inquiringly, 
said  his  companion. 

"  Reckon  he  has,  squire,  and  no  small  wrong  neither;  but  that's 
neither  here  nor  there,  seeing  there's  little  help  for  it." 

"How!  no  help  for  it!  What  may  be  the  nature  of  this  injury, 
for  which  a  man  with  your  limbs  and  spirit  can  find  no  help?  " 

The  countryman  looked  at  the  speaker  with  a  curious  expression, 
in  which  a  desire  to  confide,  and  a  proper  hesitancy  in  entrusting 
his  secret  thoughts  to  a  stranger,  were  mingled  equally.  The  other 
beheld  the  expression,  and  readily  defining  the  difficulty,  proceeded 
to  remove  it. 

"This  man  has  wronged  you  friend  Davis:  you  are  his  match — 
more  than  his  match;  you  have  better  make  and  muscle,  and  manage 
your  club  quite  as  well  as  he  his  broadsword:— why  should  you  not 
have  justice,  if  you  desire  it?  " 

"  If  I  desire  it!"  cried  the  other,  and  his  black  eye  sparkled, 


$•  THE   PARTISAN. 

:*  J  do  desire  it,  squire ;  but  there's  odds  against  me,  ov 
ai  it  afore  this." 

"What  odds?" 

"  Look  there  ! "  and  as  Davis  replied,  he  pointed  to  the  forireai 
upon  the  opposite  hill,  a  few  hundred  yards  off,  whers  the  cross  of 
Great  Britain  streamed  high  among  the  pine-trees,  and  from  the 
entrance  of  which,  at  that  very  moment,  a  small  body  of  regulars 
were  pouring  out  into  the  street,  and  proceeding  with  rarotial  music 
to  the  market-place. 

"  I  see,"  replied  the  other — "  I  see ;  but  why  should  they  prove 
odds  against  you  in  a  personal  affair  with  this  sergeant  ?  You  have 
justice  from  them  surely." 

"  Justice ! — such  justice  as  a  tory  captain  gives  when  he  wants 
your  horse,  and  don't  want  to  pay  for  it." 

Davis  replied  truly,  in  his  summing  up  of  British  justice  at  that 
period. 

"  But  you  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the  people  would  not  be  pro 
tected,  were  complaints  properly  made  to  the  officers  ? " 

"  T  do ;  and  what's  worse,  complaint  only  goes  after  new  hicko 
ries.  One  man  was  strapped  up  only  yesterday,  because  he  com 
plained  that  Corporal  Townes  kicked  his  wife  and  broke  his 
crockeiy.  They  gave  him  a  hundred  lashes." 

"  And  yet  loyalty  must  have  its  advantages,  more  than  equal  to 
this  usage,  else  " — and  a  smile  of  bitter  scorn  played  upon  the  lips 
of  the  speaker  as  he  finished  the  sentence — "  else  there  would  not 
be  so  many  to  love  it  so  well  and  submit  to  it  so  patiently." 

The  countryman  gazed  earnestly  at  the  speaker,  whose  eyes  wer« 
full  of  a  most  searching  expression,  which  could  not  be  misunder 
stood. 

"  Dang  it,  stranger,"  he  cried,  "  what  do  you  mean — who  ar« 
you?" 

"A  man!"  answered  the  speaker  boldly; — "one  who  has  not 
asked  for  a  British  protection,  nor  submitted  to  their  hickories ; " 
and  the  form  of  the  stranger  was  elevated  duly  as  he  spoke,  and  t'« 
eyo  was  lighted  up  with  scornful  fires,  as  his  reference  was  :i?.;a$ 
sarcastically  to  the  many  in  the  neighbourhood  who  had  done  both, 
face  of  Davis  was  flushed  when  he  heard  this  reply  •  the  i 


DAVIS   A    FREEMAN.  °i 

gathered  iia  his  eves,  and  with  H  bitter  emphasis,  though  in  'o^ 
tones,  as  if  he  felt  all  the  shame  of  his  acknowledgment  Ixa 
replied — 

"  God  help  me,  but  I  did  1  I  was  one  of  lLose  wLo  took  a  wy 
lection.  Here  it  is — here's  the  paper.  Here's  where  I  sold  toy 
country,  and  put  myself  down  in  black  and  white,  to  be  beaten  !i^3 
a  dog  with  hickories.  But  it's  not  too  late  ;  and  look  you,  stranger, 
I  believe  you're  true  blue,  but  if  you  aint,  why  it's  all  the  same 
thing — I  care  not — you  may  go  tell  quick  as  you  please ;  but  1  will 
break  the  bargain." 

"  Ha  ! — speak  !"  and  the  form  of  the  stranger  was  advanced  and 
his  eyes  dilated,  as  he  watched  the  earnest  glow  in  every  feature,  of 
his  companion. 

"  By  tearing  up  the  paper :  see," — and,  as  he  spoke,  he  tore  in** 
small  bits  the  guaranty  of  British  protection,  which,  in  comm-m 
with  most  of  his  neighbours,  he  had  been  persuaded  to  accept  from 
the  commandant  for  his  security,  and  as  a  condition  of  that  return, 
which  lie  pledged,  at  the  same  time,  to  his  duty  and  his  allegiance 

u  Your  life  is  in  my  hands,"  exclaimed  his  companion,  dehb^ 
rately.  "  Your  life  is  iu  my  hand%" 

"  Take  it !"  cried  the  countryman,  and  he  threw  himself  upon 
his  guard,  and  while  his  right  hand  threw  up  the  cudgel  which  ha 
carried,  the  fingers  of  his  left  clutched  fiercely  and  drew  forth  the 
hunting  knife  which  was  concealed  in  his  bosom.  Kis  small  iter 
son,  slight  but  active,  thrown  back,  every  muscle  in  action  «»*\ 
ready  for  contest ;  his  broad-brimmed  white  hat  dashed  from  hia 
brow ;  his  black,  glossy  hair  dishevelled  and  nyiug  in  the  wmu , 
lips  closely  compressed,  while  his  deep,  dark  eye  shot  forth  riresi  of 
anger,  fiercely  enlivening  the  dusky  sallow  of  his  cheek — all  gave 
to  him  a  most  imposing  expression  of  animated  life  and  couragv  .n 
the  eye  of  his  companion. 

"  Take  it-— take  the  worthless  life !"  he  cried,  in  low  but  emphatic 
accents.  "  It  is  worthless,  but  you  will  hev'  to  fight  for  it." 

The  other  regarded  him  with  a  look  of  admiration  sobered  into 
cairn. 

"Your  life  if  in  my  hands,  but  it,  is  safe.  God  forbid,  Master 
Davis,"  said  ho.  ivi,h  solemnity,- ''  <  k-d  forbid  that  I  should  assail  it. 

a* 


rt5  CON'CKHT. 

i  nm  your  friend,  your  countryman,  and  1  rejoice  in  what  you  hav? 
bowe.  You  have  done  well  and  nobly  in  destroying  that  evidence 
»f  your  dishonour ;  for  it  is  dishonour  to  1 -art IT  onc.'s  country  and 

;•»  liberties  for  dastardly  security — for  one's  miserable  life.     You 

oave  done  well ;  but  be  not  rash.    Your  movements  must  be  in  quiet. 

othing  rash,  nothing  precipitate.     Every  step  you  now  take  must 

fa  one  of  caution,  for  your  path  is  along  the  steeps  of  danger.  But 
me  with  me — you  shall  know  more.  First  secure  those  scraps ; 
,,aey  may  tell  tales  upon  you  ;  a  quick  hand  and  close  eye  may  put 
whom  together,  and  then  your  neck  would  be  fit  game  for  the  halter 
yon  sergeant  warned  you  of.  But  what  now — what  are  the  troops 
aoout f" 

The  countryman  looked,  at  his  companion's  question,  and  beheld 
;ae  troops  forming  in  the  market-place,  while  the  note  of  the  bugle 
w  intervals,  aad  an  occasional  sullen  tap  of  the  drum,  gathered  the 
crowd  of  the  village  around  them. 

"  It's  a  proclamation,  squire.  That's  the  market-place,  where 
inev  read  it  first.  They  give  us  one  every  two  or  three  davs,  some 
times  about  one  thing,  sometimes  another.  If  the  cattle's  killed  br 
the  whigs,  though  it  may  be  their  own,  there's  a  proclamation ;  but- 
we  don't  mind  them  much,  for  they  only  tell  us  to  be  quiet  and 
orderly,  ard,  heaven  knows,  we  can't  be  more  so.  They  will  next 
jro  to  the  church,  where  they  will  again  read  it.  That's  nigher,  and 
we  can  get  round  in  time  to  hear  what  it  is.  Shall  we  go,  squire  ?" 
•;  ue  otner  expressed  his  willingness,  and  leaving  the  biidge,  they 
proceeded  in  the  direction  of  the  crowd. 


CHAPTER 


-Keep  thy  counsel  well, 


And  fear  not.    We  shall  mate  with  Uinm  n  t'«w 
And  spoil  them  who  would  strike  u.-.     Wt  in  ire«, 
And  confidently  strong — hava  arm*  and  man — 
Good  fellows  in  the  wood,  that  will  not  fly 
When  blows  are  to  be  borne." 

BY  a  short  path  tne  stranger  and  his  companion  mo»  &-  from 
tbe  bridge  to  the  place  of  gathering.  It  was  not  long  bev>ie  *Vn,y 
found  themselves  in  the  thick  of  the  crowd,  upon  the  greer  o,--  at 
frcrt  of  the  church,  from  the  portals  of  which  the  heavy  rou  <ic 
drum  commanded  due  attentio;i  from  the  populace.  Tne  proc.ama- 
tion  which  the  commander  of  the  garrison  at  Dorchester  n  ;m  jnx> 
ceeded  to  read  to  the  multitude,  was  of  no  small  important.  Its 
contents  were  well  calculated  to  astound  and  terrify  the  Car  unmans 
who  heard  it.  It  was  one  of  the  many  inovements  of  the  ciaish 
commander,  unfortunately  for  the  cause  oi  royalty  in  that  region, 
which,  more  than  anything  besides,  contributed  to  arouse  ana  rri- 
tate  that  spirit  of  resistance  on  the  part  of  the  invaded  people, 
which  it  should  have  been  the  studious  policy  of  the  invaders  to 
mollify  and  suppress.  The  document  in  quenion  had  been  just 
issued  by  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  declaring  all  p<  roles  or  protection* 
granted  hitherto  to  be  null  and  void,  and  requiring  the  ho'.aers  of 
them,  within  twenty  days,  to  resume  the  character  ot*  Briuisa  sub 
jects — taking  up  arms  in  the  promotion  of  his  majesty's  t-a-jse, 
against  their  brethren,  under  pain  of  being  treated  as  rebels  to  hi* 
government. 

The  motive  of  Sir  Henry  for  a  movement  so  exceedingly  .njudi- 
cious,  may  be  only  conjectured  from  he  concurrent  circumstances 
of  the  time.  The  continental  army,  under  De  Kalb,  was  on  its  fay 
to  the  South — Gates  had  been  ordered  to  command  it — and  thi» 
intelligence,  though  not  generally  known  to  the  people  of  Carolina, 


10  THE    PARTISAN. 

?ould  L  >t  long  bo  withheld  from  their  possession.  It  was  n&eofl.vi.'t 
•;.•»  keep  ihem  from  any  co-operation  with  their  approaching  friend? , 
>xid  no  more  effectual  mode,  simply  considered  by  itself,  could  hart, 
ieen  suggested  to  the  mind  of  the  Briton  than  their  employment 
ander  his  own  banners.  This  apart,  the  invasion  of  the  adjoining 
uates  ut'  Virgiai  i  au<l  North  Carolina  had  been  long  since  deter 
mined  upon,  and  was  now  to  be  attempted.  Troops  were'  wanted 
lor  this  purpose,  ^nd  no  policy  seemed  better  than  1,0  expend  'oil- 
set  m'  rebels  upo:-.  another.  It  was  also  necessary  to  secure  the  CUM 
oruered  province  ;  and  the  terrors  of  the  hangman  were  provident,  v 
bold  out,  in  order  to  irupel  the  conquered  to  the  minor  risks  i 
(he  bayonet  and  shot. 

Tht-  error  was  a  fatal  01.3.  From  that  hour  the  declension  o. 
WrHash  power  was  precipitate)  hurried  in  Carolina  •  fhe  people  losi 
<*T  "onfidence  in  those  who  hat,'  Already  so  grossly  deceived  them 
'••r  the  condition  of  the  protect.' o.i  or  parole  called  for  no  militar; 
«-wice  from  the  citizen  who  took  Ju  He  was  simply  to  be  neutral 
*•«  Uie  contest;  and,  however  unwoi  \y  may  have  been  the  spirit 
Consenting  even  to  this  condition,  it  c,\\  aot  be  denied  that  a  fou. 
Vception  Lad  been  practised  upon  them.  The  consequences  were 
'-evitable ;  and  the  determined  hostility  cf  the  foe  was  coupled,  e 
<he  part  of  ;he  Carolinians,  with  a  wholesale  scorn  of  the  want  o. 
•^robity  manifested  by  the  enemy  they  were  uow  not  so  unwilling  to 
•tvxmnter. 

From  the  church-porch  the  proclamation  \v  *s  again  read  to  the 
•Assembled  multitude.  The  crowd  was  varic.  isly  composed,  and 
Carious  indeed  was  the  effect  which  it  produced  among  thoic.  The 
Granger  and  his  companion,  at  a  little  distance,  listened  closely  V; 
the  words  of  the  instrument ;  and  a  smile  of  joy,  not  unmh,.'!?ed  by 
Davis,  played  over  the  features  of  the  former  as  ic  heard  it  reau. 
The  latter  looked  his  indignation  :  he  could  not  understand  why 
such  a  paper  should  give  pleasure  to  his  conmuv,  and  could  not 
'brbear,  in  a  whisper,  demanding  the  occasion  of  his  satisfaction. 

"  It  pleases  you,  stranger  ?  T  see  you  smile  !" 

"  It  does  please  me — much,  very  much,"  responded  the  othe£ 
•riickly,  and  with  emphasis,  but  in  a  whisper  also. 

'*  What  1"  wilh  move  -3ct/nestness,  said  the  countryman — "  \vl4 


HUSH  !   CAUTION    NOW.  4 

does  it  please  you  to  listen  to  such  villainy  as  this  ?    I  do  riot  undei 
stand  you." 

"  Not  so  loud,  comrade  ;  you  have  a  neck,  and  these  fellows  a  rope  • 
besides,  there's  one  to  the  left  of  us  whose  looks  I  like  not." 

The  other  turned  in  the  direction  signified,  and  saw  the  propriety  of 
his  companion's  caution,  as  he  beheld  within  a  few  feet  the  harsh  feat 
ures  of  the  notorious  Captain  Huck,  a  furious  and  bloody  tory-Ieader, 
well-known,  and  held  in  odious  estimation,  throughout  the  neighbor 
hood.  The  stranger  went  on,  still  whispering  : — 

"  Look  pleased,  friend  Davis,  if  you  can  ;  this  is  no  time  to  show 
any  but  false  colors  to  the  enemy.  I  am  pleased,  really,  as  you  think, 
and  have  my  reason  for  being  so,  which  you  shall  know  in  good  time. 
Take  breath  and  listen." 

The  paper  was  finished,  and  the  detachment  moved  on  its  way  to 
the  "Royal  George  Tavern,"  the  crowd  generally  following;  and 
there  it  was  again  read.  Our  two  friends  kept  together,  and  pro 
ceeded  with  the  multitude.  The  stranger  was  eminently  watchful 
and  observant ;  he  noted  well  the  sentiment  of  indignation  which  all 
faces  manifested  ;  there  c6uld  be  no  doubt  of  that  expression.  The 
sober  farmer,  the  thoughtless  and  gay-hearted  planter  of  the  neigh 
borhood,  the  drudge,  the  mechanic,  the  petty  chapman — all  had 
in  their  looks  that  severe  soberness  which  showed  a  thought  and 
spirit,  active,  and  more  to  be  respected,  as  they  were  kept  so  well 
restrained. 

"  God  save  the  king  ! "  cried  the  officer,  as  he  concluded  the  instru 
ment,  from  the  steps  of  the  tavern. 

"Ay,  God  save  the  king,  and  God  bless  him,  too!"  echoed  old 
Humphries,  at  the  entrance.  A  few  only  of  the  crowd  gave  back 
the  cry,  and  even  with  them  the  prayer  was  coldly  uttered  ;  and 
there  was  nothing  like  that  spirit  which,  when  the  heart  goes  with 
the  decree  of  the  ruler,  makes  the  welkin  ring  with  its  unregulated 
rejoicings. 

"  You  are  silent ;  you  do  not  cry  with  the  rest,"  said  one  at  the 
elbow  of  the  stranger.  He  turned  to  behold  the  features  of  the 
tory  captain,  of  whom  we  have  already  spoken,  who  now,  with  a 
scrutinizing  glance,  placed  himself  close  beside  the  person  he  had 
addressed.  The  mean  cunning — the  low,  searching  expression  of 


42  THE    PARTISAN. 

bin  jook— -  were  eminently  disgusting  to  the  youth,  who  replied, 
while  resuming  his  old  position  : — 

"What?  God  save  the  king?  Did  I  not  say  it?  It's  very 
natural ;  for  I  am  so  used  to  it.  Fiu  quite  *J!i*g  that  God  should 
save  his  majesty — God  knows  he  needs  it." 

This  was  said  with  a  very  devout  countenance,  and  the  expres 
sion  was  so  composed  and  quiet,  that  the  tory  could  say  nothing, 
though  still  not  satisfied,  seemingly,  with  much  that  was  in  the  lan 
guage.  It  sounded  very  like  a  sneer,  and  yet,  strictly  speaking,  it 
was  perfectly  unexceptionable.  Baffled  in  this  quarter,  the  loyalist, 
who  was  particularly  desirous  of  establishing  his  own  claims  <*> 
British  favour,  now  turned  with  a  similar  inquiry  to  Davis ;  but  thfe 
countryman  was  ready,  and  a  nudge  in  the  side  from  his  companion, 
had  anything  been  wanting,  moved  him  to  a  similar  answer.  J!uck 
was  not  exactly  prepared  to  meet  will',  so  much  willingness  on  the 
part  of  two  persons  whose  movements  he  had  suspected,  and  hat 
been  watching ;  but,  concluding  them  now  to  Be  well  affected,  he 
did  not  scruple  to  propose  to  them  to  become  members  of  the  troop 
of  liors-j  he  was  engaged  in  raising.  To  the  stranger  he  firs! 
vlOressud  himself,  complimenting  him  upon  his  fine  limbs  and 
figure  a?.d  i?isisting  upon  the  excellent  appearance  he  would  make, 
well  mounted  and  in  British  uniform.  A  smile  of  sovereign  con 
tempt  overspread  the  youth's  features  as  he  listened  to  the  torj 
patiently  to  the  end.  Calmly,  then,  he  begged  permission  to  decline 
the  proposed  honour. 

"  Why,  you  are  loyal,  sir  ?"  he  asked,  seeming  to  doubt- 

"  Who  denies  it !"  fiercely  replied  the  stranger. 

"  Oh%  nobody ;  I  mean  not  to  offend :  but,  as  a  loyal  subject,  you 
can  scarce  withhold  yourself  from  service." 

"  I  do  not  contemplate  to  do  so,  sir." 

"And  why  not  join  my  troop?  Come,  now,  you  shall  have  a 
lieutenancy ;  for,  blast  me,  but  I  like  your  looks,  and  would  be 
devilish  glad  to  have  you.  You  can't  refuse." 

"  But  I  do,"  said  the  other,  coolly — almost  contemptuously. 

"  And  wherefore  ?"  Huck  inquired,  with  a  show  of  pique  in  h« 
countenance  and  manner — "  wherefore?  What  better  service?  an-', 
U'  »  s**ldiej  oi"  ib/tune,  Ifet  me  «.*k  vou,  what  batter  chances  uxtu 


THE   STRANGER   SHOWS   FALSE   COLORS.  43 

now  of  making  every  thing  out  of  these  d— d  rebels,  who  have  gone 
into  the  swamps,  leaving  large  estates  for  confiscation  ?  What  better 
business  ? " 

"  None  :  I  fully  agree  with  you." 

"  And  you  will  join  my  troop  ?  " 

"No!" 

The  man  looked  astonished.  The  coolness  and  composure  with 
which  the  denial  was  made  surprised  him  not  less  than  the  denial  it 
self.  With  a  look  of  doubt  and  wonderment,  he  went  on — 

"Well,  you  know  best;  but,  of  course,  as  a  good  citizen,  you 
will  soon  be  in  arms  ;  twenty  days,  you  know,  are  all  that's  allowed 
you." 

"  I  do  not  need  so  many  ;  as  a  good  citizen,  I  shall  be  in  arms  in 
less  time." 

"  In  whose  troop  ? — where  ?  " 

"Ah,  now  we  come  to  the  point,"  was  the  sudden  reply;  "and 
you  will  now  see  why  I  have  been  able  to  withstand  the  tempting 
offers  you  have  made.  I  am  thinking  to  form  a  troop  of  my  own,  and 
should  I  do  so,  I  certainly  should  not  wish  so  much  success  to  yours 
as  to  fall  into  your  ranks." 

"  Indeed  !  Well,  I'm  glad,  anyhow,  that  his  majesty  is  likely  to  be 
so  well  served  with  officers.  Have  you  yet  applied  for  a  commission 
to  the  commandant  ?  " 

"  No  ;  nor  shall  I,  till  my  recruits  are  strong  enough  to  make  my 
appearance  respectable. " 

"  That's  right !  I  know  that  by  experience.  They  never  like  you 
half  so  well  as  when  you  bring  your  men  with  you  ;  they  don't  want 
officers  so  much  as  men  ;  and  some  of  the  commands,  if  they  can 
choose  you  out  of  your  recruits,  will  not  stop  to  do  so  ;  ami  then  you 
may  whistle  for  your  commission.  I  suppose  your  friend,  here,  is 
already  secured  for  your  squad  ? " 

The  tory  referred  to  Davis,  who  did  not  leave  his  companion  to 
reply  ;  but,  without  scruple,  avowed  himself  as  having  already  been 
partially  secured  for  the  opposition  troop. 

"  Well,  good  luck  to  you.  But  I  say  comrade,  you  have  com 
manded  before — of  course  you  are  prepared  to  lead  ? " 

"I  have  the  heart  for  it,"  was  the  reply;  and  as  the  stranger 


44  THE    PARTISAN. 

ppoke,  he  extended  his  ar-ms  towards  the  tory  captain,  while  e'/n 
Bating  his  figure  to  its  ful'est  height ;  "  and  yoii  can  say  yourself 
for  the  limbs.  As  for  the  head,  it  must  be  seen  if  mine's  goo'J  for 
anything." 

"  [  doubt  it  not ;  and  service  comes  easy  after  a  brush  or  two. 
But  wouldn't  you  like  to  know  the  major  ?" 

"  Who  ? — the  officer  in  command  of  the  garrison  .here  ?" 

"  The  same." 

"In  time,  I'll  trouble  you,  perhaps,  to  help  me  to  that  know 
'edge.  Not  yet ;  not  till  I  get  my  recruits." 

"  You  are  right  ir  that;  and,  talking  of  the  recruits,  I  must  see 
after  mine  ;  and,  so,  a  good-evening  to  you,  and  success.  We 
thall  meet  again." 

The  tory  moved  among  the  separate  groups  as  he  spoke,  and  the 
stranger  turned  to  Davis  while  he  muttered — 

"  Ay,  we  shall  meet  again,  Master  Huck,  or  it  will  be  no  fault  oi 
miit&  Jif  we  do  not,  Old  Nick  takes  marvellous  care  of  his  own 
Bye,  ha !  comrade,  keep  you  here  awhile ;  there  is  one  that  I  would 
>.peak  with." 

At  a  little  distance  apart,  at  one  wing  of  the  tavavn,  stood  a  man, 
sdiu'od  iu  the  blue  homespun  garments  of  the  country,  among  the 
ii ambler  classes;  and  with  nothing  particular  to  distinguish  him,  if 
we  except  a  face  somewhat  more  round  and  rosy  than  belongs 
usually  to  the  people  dwelling  in  Dorchester  and  its  neighbourhood, 
fie  was  like  them  in  one  respect — having  a  sidelong,  indirect  move 
ment,  couph-J  with  a  sluggish,  lounging,  indifferent  gait,  which  is  a 
<--:-!iera'  feature  of  iliis  people,  unless  when  roused  by  insult  or  pro 
vocation.  In  his  hard  he  carried  a  whip  of  common  leather,  which 
he  smacked  occasionally,  either  for  the  sharp,  shot-like  sounds  which 
it.  sent  forth,  or  when  he  desired  to  send  to  a  greater  distance  that 
most  grumbling  of  all  aristocrats,  the  hog,  as  it  approached  him. 
The  (juick  eye  of  the  stranger  had  singled  out  this  personage ;  and, 
leaving  Datvis  where  he  stood,  and  moving  quickly  through  the 
straggling  groups  that  still  clustered  in  front  of  the  tavern,  he  at 
once  approached  him  confidently  as  an  old  acquaintance.  The 
other  seemed  not  to  observe  his  corning,  until  our  first  acquaintance 
as  he  advanced,  caught  his  luiice.  This  had  no  souii<i» 


-SECIIET  MOVEMENTS.  45 

been  done,  than  the  other  was  in  motion.  Throwing  aside  his 
sluggishness  of  look,  he  recognized  by  a  glance  the  stranger,  and 
his  head  was  bent  forward  to  listen,  as  he  saw  that  he  was  about  to 
speak.  The  words  of  our  old  acquaintance  were  few,  but  signifi 
cant — 

"I  am  here  before  you — say  nothing — lead  on,  and  I  will  fol 
low." 

With  a  nod,  the  person  addressed  looked  but  once  at  the  speaker; 
then,  without  a  word,  moving  from  his  easy  position  against  the 
tavern,  and  throwing  aside  all  show  of  sluggishness,  he  led  the  way 
for  the  stranger.  Taking  an  oblique  path,  which  carried  them  in  a 
short  time  into  the  neighboring  woods,  they  soon  left  the  village 
behind  them. 

Davis  had  been  reluctant  to  separate  from  the  companion  to 
whom  he  had  so  readily  yielded  his  confidence.  He  had  his  doubts 
— as  who  could  be  without  them  in  that  season  of  general  distrust  ? 
Bst  when  he  remembered  the  warm,  manly  frankness  of  the  stranger 
— his  free,  bold,  generous,  and  gentle  contenance — he  did  not  suffer 
himself  to  doubt,  for  a  moment  more,  that  his  secret  would  be  safe 
in  his  possession.  This,  indeed,  was  the  least  of  his  difficulties.  The 
fair  coquette  of  the  inn  had  attracted  him  strongly,  and  with  a  heavy 
heart,  he  turned  into  the  "  Royal  George,"  and,  throwing  Ms  form  at 
length  "upon  a  bench,  he  solaced  or  vexed,  himself  with  an  occasional 
glance  at  Bella  Humphries,  whose  duties  carried  her  to  and  fro 
between  the  bar  and  the  sitting-room;  and  with  thoughts  of  that  ven 
geance  upon  his  enemy  which  his  new  relation  with  the  stranger 
seemed  to  promise  him. 

Meanwhile,  following  the  steps  of  the  individual  he  had  so  singled 
out,  the  stranger  kept  on  his  way  until  the  village  had  been  fairly 
passed;  then  plunging  down  a  little  by-path,  into  which  the  former 
had  gone,  he  soon  overtook  him,  and  they  moved  on  closely  together 
in  their  common  progress.  The  guide  was  a  stout  able-bodied 
person,  of  thirty  years,  or  perhaps  more — a  rough-looking  man,  one 
seemingly  born  and  bred  entirely  in  the  humble  life' of  the  country. 
He  was  powerful  in  physical  development,  rather  stout  than  high, 
with  a  short  thick  neck — a  head  round  and  large,  with  eyes  small 
settled,  and  piercing — and  features  even  solemn  in  their  general 


46  THE  PARTISAN. 

expression  of  severity.  He  carried  no  visible  weapons,  but  he  seemed 
the  man  to  use  them;  for  no  one  who  looked  in  his  face  could  doubt 
that  he  was  full  of  settled  purpose,  firm  in  his  resolve,  and  reckless, 
having  once  determined,  in  the  prosecution  of  the  most  desperate  en 
terprise. 

The  route  they  were  pursuing  grew  more  and  more  tangled  as 
they  went,  gradually  sinking  in  level,  until  the  footing  became 
slightly  insecure,  and  at  length  terminated  in  the  soft  oozy  swamp 
surface  common  to  the  margin  of  most  rivers  in  the  low  country  of 
the  south.  They  were  now  close  on  the  banks  of  the  Ashley,  which 
wound  its  way,  perceptible  to  the  two  in  occasional  glimpses,  through 
the  close-set  foliage  by  which  they  were  surrounded.  A  few  more 
strides  through  the  copse  and  over  the  miry  surface,  brought  them 
again  to  a  dry  elevation,  isolated  by  small  sluices  of  water,  and  more 
closely  wrapped  in  brush  and  covering.  Here  their  progress  was  self- 
arrested,  for  they  were  now  perfectly  secure  from  interruption.  In 
all  this  time,  no  word  had  been  exchanged  between  the  parties;  but 
the  necessity  for  farther  caution  being  now  over,  they  came  to  a 
pause,  and  the  silence  was  broken  as  follows  by  our  last  made 
acquaintance: 

"We  are  safe  here,  Major  Singleton,  and  can  now  speak  freely. 
The  sharpest  scout  in  the  British  garrison  could  not  well  come  upon 
us  without  warning,  and  if  he  did,  would  do  so  by  accident." 

"  I'm  glad  of  it,  for  I'm  heartily  tired,  and  not  a  little  impatient  to 
talk  with  you.  But  let  us  be  at  ease." 

They  threw  themselves  upon  the  ground — our  elder  acquaintance, 
whom  we  now  know  as  Major  Singleton,  with  an  air  of  superiority 
which  seemed  familiar,  choosing  the  most  favorable  spot,  while  the 
other  remained  standing  until  his  companion  had  adjusted  himself; 
and  then  took  his  seat  respectf ully  on  the  ridgy  roots  of  the  pine-tree 
spreading  over  them. 

"And  now.  Humphries,"  said  Singleton,  "what  of  iny  sister — is 
she  safe,  and  how  did  she  bear  the  journey?  " 

"Safe,  major,  and  well  as  could  be  expected;  though  very  feeble. 
We  had  some  trouble  crossing  the  Santee,  but  it  did  not  keep  us  long, 
and  we  got  on  tolerably  well  after.  The  whole  party  are  now  safe  at 
'  The  Oaks.' " 


TttE    DRAMATIS   PEKSOKVE    UXFOLD.  47 

"Well,  you  must  guide  me  there  to-niglit,  if  possible;  I  know 
nothing  of  the  place,  and  but  little  of  the  country.  Years  have 
passed  since  I  last  went  over  it." 

"What!  have  you  never  been  at  'The  Oaks,' major?  I  was  told 
you  had." 

"  Yes,  when  a  boy;  but  I  have  no  distinct  memory  on  the  subject, 
except  of  the  noble  trees,  the  thick  white  moss  and  the  dreamy  quiet 
of  all  things  around.  The  place,  I  know,  is  beautiful." 

"You  may  well  say  so,  major;  a  finer  don't  happen  often  in  the 
low  country,  and  the  look  at  it  from  the  river  is  well  worth  a  jour 
ney." 

' '  Ah !  I  have  never  seen  it  from  that  quarter.  But  you  said  my 
uncle  was  well,  and" — here  the  voice  faltered  a  little — "and  my 
cousin  Katharine — they  are  all  well  ? " 

"All  well,  sir.  The  old  squire  is  rather  down  in  the  mouth,  you 
see,  for  he's  taken  a  protection,  and  he  can't  help  seeing  the  troubles 
of  the  county.  It's  this  that  makes  his  trouble;  and  though  he  used 
of  old  time  to  be  a  dashing,  hearty,  lively,  talkative  gentleman, 
always  pleasant  and  good-humoured,  yet  now  he  says  nothing;  and  if 
he  happens  to  smile  at  all,  he  catches  himself  up  a  minute  after,  and 
looks  mighty  sorry  for  it.  Ah,  major,  these  cursed  protections — 
they've  made  many  a  good  heart  sore  in  this  neighbourhood,  and  the 
worst  is  to  come  yet,  or  I'm  mistaken." 

"A  sore  subject,  Humphries,  and  not  very  necessary  to  speak  on. 
But  what  news — what  stirring,  and  how  get  on  our  recruits?" 

"Slowly  enough,  major;  but  that  is  to  be  expected  while  the 
country  is  overrun  with  the  red-coats.  The  folk  arc  afraid  to 
move,  and  our  poor  swamp-boys  can't  put  their  noses  out  yet — not 
until  the  enemy  turns  his  back  on  them  for  a  while,  and  gives  them 
chance  for  a  little  skirmish,  without  the  risk  of  the  rope.  But  things 
would  change,  I'm  certain,  if  the  great  general  you  spoke  of,  with 
the  continentals,  would  only  come  south.  Our  people  only  want  an 
opportunity." 

'•And  they  shall  have  it.  But  what  intelligence  here  from  the 
city?" 

"None,  sir,  or  little.     You  heard  the  proclamation?" 

"Yes,   with    joy — with    positive    delight.      The    movement  is  tt 


48  THE   PARTISAN. 

grand  one  for  our  cause:  it  must  bring  out  the  ground-rats — those 
who  skulked  for  safety  into  contracts,  measuring  honour  by  acres, 
and  counting  their  duty  to  their  country  by  the  value  of  their 
crops." 

"True — I  see  that,  major,  but  that's  the  thing  I  dread.  Why 
should  you  desire  to  bring  them  out? " 

"Why,  because,  though  with  us  in  spirit  and  sentiment,  they  yet 
thought  to  avoid  danger,  while  they  believed  themselves  unable  to 
serve  us  by  their  risk.  Now,  forced  into  the  field — compelled  to 
fight — is  it  not  clear  that  the  argument  is  all  in  favour  of  our  side? 
Will  they  not  rather  fight  in  conformity  with  their  feelings  and 
opinions  than  against  them?  particularly  when  the  latter  course  must 
place  them  in  arms  against  their  friends  and  neighbours — not  to  speak 
of  their  countrymen — in  many  instances  to  their  relatives,  and  the 
members  of  their  own  families.  By  forcing  into  the  field  those  who 
were  quiet  before,  Sir  Henry  Clinton  has  forced  thousands  into  our 
ranks,  who  will  be  as  slow  to  lay  down  their  weapons  as  they  were  to 
take  them  up." 

"  I  hope  so,  major;  but  I  fear  that  many  will  rather  strike  for  what 
seems  the  strongest,  and  not  ask  many  questions  as  to  which  is  the 
justest  side." 

"No — this  I  fear  not.  The  class  of  people  on  whom  I  rely  are 
too  proud  to  suffer  this  imposition,  and  too  spirited  not  to  resist  the 
indignity  which  it  puts  upon  them.  They  must  be  roused  by  the 
trick  which  has  been  practiced,  and  will  shake  off  their  sleep.  Let  us 
hope  for  it,  at  least." 

' '  I  am  willing,  sir,  but  fear  it.  They  have  quite  too  much  at 
stake:  they  have  too  much  plate,  too  many  negroes,  and  live  too  com 
fortably  to  be  willing  to  stand  a  chance  of  losing  all  by  taking  up 
arms  against  the  British,  who  are  squat  close  alongside  of  them." 

"So  should  I  fear  with  you,  Humphries,  and  for  like  reasons,  if 
the  protections  protected  them.  I  doubt  not  that  they  would  be  will 
ing  to  keep  quiet,  and  take  no  part  ki  this  struggle,  if  the  conquerors 
were  wise  enough  to  let  them  alone;  but  they  kick  and  cuff  them  on 
all  occasions,  and  patriots  are  frequently  made  by  kicking.  I  care 
not  for  the  process,  so  it  gives  us  the  commodity.  Let  them  kick  on, 
and  may  they  get  extra  legs  for  the  purpose! " 


PROCESS   FOR   MAKING    PATRIOTS.  49 

"  Amen,"  said  Humphries,  gravely.  "  If  it  makes  them  stand  up 
to  the  rack,  us  you  think  it  will.  But — "  changing  somewhat  abruptly, 
he  said  to  Singleton — 

"  You  were  with  Jack  Davis,  of  Goose  Creek,  major,  when  you 
first  came  up — I  thought  you  were  unknown  in  these  parts  ?" 

"You  thought  rightly  ;  I  am  still  unknown,  but  I  learned  to  know 
something  of  him  you  speak  of,  and  circumstances  threw  us  together." 
Here  Singleton  related  the  occurrences  at  the  tavern,  as  already 
known  to  us.  Humphries,  who  was  the  son  of  the  landlord,  gave 
close  attention,  and  with  something  more  than  ordinary  interest. 
He  was  not  at  any  time  a  man  to  show  his  feelings  openly,  but  there 
was  an  increased  pressure  of  his  lips  together  as  that  portion  fell 
upon  his  ear  which  described  the  enterference  of  his  sister,  the  fair 
coquette  Bella,  for  the  protection  of  her  cast-off  lover.  His  breathing 
was  far  less  free  at  this  point  of  the  narrative  ;  and  when  Singleton 
concluded,  tho  listener  muttered,  partly  in  solilquy  and  partly  in 
reply— 

"A  poor  fool  of  a  girl,  that  sister  of  mine,  major;  loves  the  fine 
colors  of  the  jay  in  spite  of  his  cursed  squalling,  and  has  played  upon 
that  good  fellow,  Davis — Prickly  Ash,  as  we  sometimes  call  him  in 
the  village — till  he  is  half  out  of  his  wits.  Her  head,  too,  is  half 
turned  with  that  red  coat ;  but  I'll  cure  her  of  that,  and  cure  him  too, 
or  there's  no  virtue  in  twisted  bore.  But,  major,  did  you  do  any 
thing  with  Davis  ? " 

The  answer  was  affirmative,  and  Humphries  continued — 

"That's  a  gain,  sir  ,  for  Davis  is  true,  if  he  says  it,  and  comes  of 
good  breed  :  he'll  fight  like  a  bull-dog,  and  his  teeth  shall  meet  in  the 
flesh.  Besides,  he's  a  great  shot  with  a  rifle,  like  most  of  the  boys 
from  Goose  Creek.  Hfs  old  mother  kept  him  back,  or  he'd  a-joined 
us  long  ago,  for  I've  seen  how  his  thoughts  run.  But  it's  not  too  late, 
and  if  the  word's  once  out  of  his  mouth,  he's  to  be  depended  on — he's 
safe." 

"A  few  more  7/ill  do.  You  have  several  others,  have  you  not, 
gathering  in  a  safe  place  ! "  said  Singleton. 

"In  the  swamp — thirteen,  true  as  steel,  and  ready  for  fight. 
They're  only  some  some  six  miles  off,  and  can  be  brought  up  in  two 
hours,  at  notice.  See,  this  river  comes  from  the  heart  of  the  Cypress 


60  THE  PAETISAK. 

Swamp,  where  they  shelter  ;  and  if  there  be  no  tory  among  us  to  show 
them  the  track,  I  defy  all  Proctor's  garrison  to  find  us  out." 

"  We  must  be  among  them  to-morrow.  But  the  evening  wears  and 
the  breeze  freshens  up  from  the  river  :  it  is  sweet  and  fresh  from  the 
sea — and  how  different,  too,  from  that  of  the  forests  !  But  come — I 
must  go  back,  and  have  my  horse  in  readiness  for  this  ride  to  '  The 
Oaks,'  where  you  must  attend  me," 

' '  Your  horse  I    Where  is  he  ?  "  asked  the  other  quickly. 

"  In  your  father's  stable." 

"  He  must  not  be  suffered  to  stay  there  ;  if  he  is,  you  will  not  have 
him  long.  We  must  hide  him  out,  or  that  black-hearted  tory,  Huck, 
will  l)e  on  his  quarters  before  three  days ;  he's  beating  about  the 
country  now  for  horses  as  well  as  men." 

"  See  to  it  then  for  I  must  run  no  such  risk.  Let  us  return  at  once," 
said  Singleton. 

' '  Yes  ;  but  we  take  different  roads  :  we  must  not  know  each  other. 
Can  you  find  the  way  back  alone,  major  ? " 

"  Yes — I  doubt  not." 

' '  To  the  left  now — round  that  water  ;  keep  straight  up  from  the 
river  for  a  hundred  yards,  and  you  fall  into  the  track.  Your  horse 
shall  be  ready  in  an  hour,  and  I  will  meet  you  at  supper." 

They  parted — Singleton  on  his  way  as  directed,  and  Humphries 
burying  himself  still  deeper  in  the  copse. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  It  needs  but  to  be  bold  —bo  bold— be  bold— 
Everywhere  bold.— 'Tis  every  virtue  told ; 
Courage  and  truth,  humanity  and  skill, 
The  noblest  cunning  that  the  mind  can  will, 
As  the  best  charity  we  do  but  kill, 
Not  succour,  when  we  shudder  at  the  ill : 
The  loathing  and  the  sorrow  that  not  strives 
Were  sorry  proof  oi'  manhood." 

IT  was  not  long  before;  Singleton  reached  the  tavern,  which  he 
now  found  crowded.  The  villagers  of  all  conditions  and  politics  had 
there  assembled,  either  to  mutter  over  their  doubts  or  discontents,  or 
to  gather  counsel  for  their  course  in  future,  from  the  many,  wiser 
than  themselves,  in  their  own  predicament.  There,  also,  came  the 
true  loyalist,  certain  to  find  deffcrence  and  favour  from  those  around 
him,  not  so  happy  or  so  secure  as  himself  in  the  confidence  of  the 
existing  powers.  The  group  was  motley  enough,  and  the  moods  at 
work  among  them  not  less  so.  Some  had  already  determined  upon 
submission, — some  of  the  weak — the  time-serving — such  as  every  old 
community  will  be  found  to  furnish,  where  indolent  habits,  which 
have  become  inveterate,  forbid  all  sort  of  independence.  Some  fluc 
tuated,  and  knew  not  what  to  do,  or  even  what  to  think.  But  there 
were  others,  Singleton  imagined,  as  he  looked  into  their  grave,  sullen 
features,  full  of  thought  and  pregnant  with  determination,  who  felt 
nothing  so  strongly  as  the  sense  of  injustice,  and  the  rebel-daring 
which  calls  for  defiance  at  every  hazard. 

"Vengeance!  my  men!"  he  muttered  to  himself,  as  passing  full 
into  the  apartment,  he  became  at  once  visible  to  the  group.  The  old 
landlord  himself  was  the  first  person  who  confronted  him,  speak  in1* 
still  after  that  familiar  fashion  which  had  already  had  its  rebuke 
from  the  same  quarter. 

"Ah,  captain!  (the  brow  of  Singleton  darkened) — squire,  I  mean. 
I  ask  pardon,  squire  ;  but  here,  where  every  man  |s  a  captain,  or  a 

51 


52  THE   PARTISAN. 

colonel,  or  something,  it  comes  natural  to  captain  or  colonel  all,  and 
is  not  often  amiss.  No  offense,  squire — it's  use  only,  and  I  mean  no 
harm." 

"Enough,  enough!  good  Master  landlord!  Least  said,  soonest 
mended.  Shall  we  soon  have  supper?" 

The  ready  publican  turned  to  the  inner  door  of  the  apartment  and 
put  the  same  question  to  his  daughter,  the  fair  Bella;  then,  without 
waiting  for  her  reply,  informed  the  inquirer  that  many  minutes 
would  not  elapse  before  it  would  be  on  table. 

"  Six  o'clock's  the  time  of  day  for  supper,  squire — six  for  supper — 
one  for  dinner — eight  for  breakfast — puntual  to  the  stroke,  and  no 
waiting.  Ileh!  what's  that  you  say,  Master  Dickenson?— what's  that 
about  Frampton  ? "  said  old  Humphries,  turning  to  one  of  the  villa 
gers  who  had  just  entered  the  apartment.  The  person  so  addressed 
came  forward;  a  thin- jawed,  sallow  countryman,  whose  eyes  were 
big  with  the  intelligence  he  brought,  and  who  seemed  anxious  that  a 
well-dressed  and  goodly-looking  stranger,  like  Singleton,  should  have 
the  benefit  of  his  burden. 

"  Why,  gentlemen,  the  matter  with  Frampton's  strange  enough. 
You  all  know  he's  been  out  several  days,  close  in  the  swamp.  He 
had  a  fight,  stranger,  you  see,  with  one  of  Huck's  dragoons;  and  he 
licked  the  dragoon,  for  all  the  world,  as  if  he'd  a  licked  him  out  of 
his  skin.  Now  the  dragoon's  a  strong  fellow  enough;  but  Framp 
ton's  a  horse,  and  if  ever  he  mounts  you  the  game  is  up,  for  there's 
no  stopping  him  when  he  gets  his  hand  in.  So,  as  I  tell  you,  the 
dragoon  stood  a  mighty  slim  chance.  He  first  brought  him  down 
with  a  back-handed  wipe,  that  came  over  his  cheek  for  all  the  world 
like  the  slap  of  a  water-wheel — " 

"  Yes,  yes,  we  all  heard  that;  but  what  was  it  "all  about,  Dicken 
son? — we  don't  know  that,  yet,"  cried  one  of  the  group  which  had 
now  formed  around  the  speaker. 

"  Why,  that's  soon  told.  The  dragoon  went  to  Frampton's  house 
when  he  was  in  the  swamp,  and  made  free  with  what  he  wanted. 
Big  Barney,  his  eldest  son,  went  off  in  the  meanwhile  to  his  daddy, 
and  off  he  came  full  tilt,  with  Lance,  his  youngest  lad  along  with 
him.  You  know  Lance,  or  Lancelot,  a  smart  chap  of  sixteen;  you've 
seed  him  often  enough." 

"  Yes,  yes,  we  know  him." 


THE    FKAMPTON   MURDER.  68 

"  Well,  as  I  tell  you,  the  old  man  and  his  two  boys  came  full 
Lilt  to  the  k-  use,  and  'Lwas  a  God's  mercy  they  came  in  time,  for 
the  doings  of  the  dragoon  was  too  rediculous  for  any  decent  body 
to  put  up  with,  and  the  old  colt  couldn't  stand  it  no  how ;  so,  as  I 
tell  you,  he  put  it  to  him  in  short  order.  He  first  gave  him  a  back- 
banded  wipe,  vhich  flattened  him,  I  tell  you ;  and  when  the 
sodger  tried  to  get  up,  he  put  it  to  him  again  so  that  it  was  easier 
for  him  to  lie  down  than  to  stand  up;  and  lie  down  he  did,  with 
out  a  we'd,  till  the  other  dragoons  tuk  him  up.  They  came  a  few 
minutes  after,  and  the  old  man  and  the  youngest  boy,  Lance,  had 
a  narro  :v  chance  and  a  smart  run  for  it.  They  heard  the  troops 
coming  1  ,wn  the  lane,  a:i cl  they  took  to  the  bush.  The  sodgers 
.vried  hard  to  catch  them,  but  it  aint  easy  to  hook  a  Goose-Creeker 
•when  hs's  on  trail  for  the  swamp,  and  splashing  after  the  hogs 
along  -.1  tussock.  So  they  got  safe  into  the  Cypress,  and  the  dra 
goons  had  nothing  better  to  do  than  go  back  to  the  house.  Well, 
they  made  Frampton's  old  woman  stand  all  sorts  of  treatment,  and 
that  too  bad  to  find  names  for.  They  beat  her  too,  and  she  as 
heavy  as  she  could  go.  Well,  then,  she  died  night  afore  last,  as 
might  be  expecteil ;  and  now  the  wonder  is,  what's  become  of  her 
body.  They  laid  her  out ;  and  the  old  granny  that  watched  her 
only  went  into  the  kitchen  for  a  little  while,  and  when  she  came 
back  the  body  was  gone.  She  looked  out  of  the  window,  and  sure 
enough  sho  sees  a  man  going  over  the  rail  with  a  bundle  all  in 
white  on  his  shoulder.  And  the  man  looked,  so  she  swears,  for  all 
the  world  like  old  Framptou  himself.  Nobody  knows  anything 
more  about  it;  and  what  I  heard,  is  jist  now  what  I  tell  you." 

The  man  had  narrated  truly  what  he  had  heard ;  and  what,  in 
reality,  with  little  exaggeration,  was  the  truth.  The  company  had 
listened  to  one  of  those  stories  of  brutality,  which — in  the  fierce 
civil  warfare  of  the  South,  when  neighbours  were  arrayed  against 
one  another,  and  when,  on  one  side,  negroes  and  Indians  formed 
allies,  contributing,  by  their  lighter  sense  of  humanity,  additional 
forms  of  terror  to  the  sanguinary  warfare  pursued  at  that  period — 
were  of  almost  daily  occurrence.  Iluck,  the  infamous  tory  captain, 
of  whom  we  have  already  obtained  a  slight  glimpse  in  the  progress 
ef  our  uarrati  ;e,  was  himself  a  character  well  fitted,  by  his  habitual 
8 


f>4  THK   PARTISAN. 

cunning  and  gross  want  of  ail  the  softening  influences  of  humanity, 
to  give  countenance,  and  even  example,  to  crimes  of  tins  nature. 
His  dragoons,  though  few  as  yet  in  number,  and  employed  only  on 
marauding  excursions  calling  for  small  parlies,  had  already  become 
notorious  for  their  outrages  of  this  description.  Indeed,  they  found 
impunity  in  this  circumstance.  In  regular  warfare,  under  thc.con 
trolling  presence  of  crowds,  the  responsibility  of  his  men,  apart 
from  what  they  owed  or  yielded  to  himself,  would  have  held  them 
certainly  in  some  greater  restraints;  although,  to  (heir  shame  be  it 
said,  the  British  generals  in  the  South,  when  mortified  by  defeat 
and  vexed  by  unexpected  resistance,  were  themselves  not  always 
more  tenacious  of  propriety  than  the  tory  Iluck.  The  sanguinaiy 
orders  of  Cornwallis,  commanding  the  cold-blooded  execution  of 
hundreds,  are  on  record,  in  melancholy  attestation  of  the  atrocities 
committed  by  the  cue,  and  the  persecutions  borne  by  the  other 
party,  during  this  memorable  conflict. 

It  could  easily  be  seen  what  was  the  general  feeling  during  this 
recital ;  and  yet  that  feeling  was  unspoken.  Some  few  shook  their 
heads  very  gravely,  and  a  few,  more  daring  yet,  ventured  to  say, 
that  "  it  was  very  bad,  very  bad  indeed — very  shocking  i" 

"What's  very  bad,  my  friends?  what  is  it  you  speak  of  as  so 
shocking?"  was  the  demand  of  one  just  entering.  The  crowd 
started  back,  and  Iluck  himself  stood  among  them.  He  repeated 
his  inquiry,  and  with  a  manner  that  left  it  doubtful  whether  he 
really  desired  to  know  what  had  been  the  subject  of  their  remarks, 
or  whether,  having  heard,  he  wished  to  compel  some  of  them  to 
the  honest  utterance  of  their  seatimente  upon  it.  Singleton,  who 
had  listened  with  a  duly-excited  spirit  to  the  narrative  of  the 
countryman,  now  advanced  deliberately  towards  the  new-comer, 
whom  he  addressed  as  in  answer  to  his  question  — 

"Why,  sir,  it  is  bad,  very  bad  indeed,  the  treatment  received,  as 
I  learn,  by  one  of  Lis  majesty's  dragoons,  at  the  hands  of  some 
impudent  rebel  a  few  nights  ago.  You  know,  sir,  to  what  I  allude. 
Vou  have  heard,  doubtless." 

The  bold,  confident  manner  of  the  speaker  was  sufficiently  im 
posing  to  satisfy  all  around  of  his  loyalty.  JIuck  seemed  com 
pletely  surprised,  and  replied  freely  and  with  confidence — 


UN  TRAIL  AFTER  THE  KEBELS.          55 

"Ay,  you  moan  (he  affair  of  that  scoundrel,  Fnuupton.  Yes,  I 
IJLOW  all  about  it;  but  we're  on  his  trail,  and  shall  soon  make  him 
sweat  for  his  audacity,  the  blasted  rebel." 

"  l')i>  you  know  that  his  wife  is  dead  ?"  "asked  one  of  the  country 
men,  in  a  tone  subdued  to  one  of  simple  and  inexpressive  inquiry. 

"  No — and  don't  care  very  greatly.  It's  a  bad  breed,  and  the 
misfortune  is,  there's  quite  too  many  of  them.  But  we'll  thiu 
them  soon,  and  easily,  by  G — d  !  and  the  land  shall  be  rid  of  the 
reptiles." 

"  Yes,  captain,  we  think  alike,"  said  Singleton,  familiarly — "  we 
think  alike  on  that  subject.  Something  must  be  done,  and  in  time, 
or  there  will  be  no  comfortable  moving  for  a  loyalist,  whether  in 
swamp  or  highway.  These  rascal  rebels  have  it  in  their  power  to 
do  mischief,  if  not  taken  care  of  in  time.  It  is  certainly  our  policy 
to  prevent  our  men  from  being  ill-treated  by  them,  and  to  do  this, 
they  must  be  taken  in  hand  early.  Rebellion  grows  like  joint-grass 
when  it  once  takes  root,  and  runs  faster  than  you  can  follow.  It 
should  be  seen  to." 

"That  is  my  thought  already,  and  accordingly  I  have  a  good 
dog  on  trail  of  this  lark,  Frampton,  and  hope  soon  to  have  him  in. 
lie  cannot  escape  Travis,  my  lieutenant,  who  is  now  after  him,  and 
who  knows  the  swamp  as  well  as  himself.  They're  both  from 
Goose  Creek,  and  so  let  dog  eat  dog." 

"  You  have  sent  Travis  after  him,  then,  captain  ?"  inquired  a 
slow  and  deliberate  voice  at  Huck's  elbow.  Singleton  turned  at  the 
same  moment  with  the  person  addressed,  and  recognised  in  the 
speaker  his  own  lieutenant,  the  younger  Humphries,  who  had  go? 
oack  to  the  tavern  almost  as  soon  as  himself.  Humphries,  of  whose 
Americanism  we  can  have  no  sort  of  question,  had  yet  managed 
adroitly  to  conceal  it;  and  what  with  his  own  cunning  and  hia 
father's  established  loyalty,  he  was  enabled,  not  only  to  pass  without 
suspicion,  but  actually  to  impress  the  tories  with  a  favourable  opinion 
of  his  good  feeling  for  the  British  cause.  This  was  one  of  those 
artifices  which  the  necessities  of  the  times  imposed  upon  most  men, 
and  for  which  they  gave  a  sufficient  moral  sanction. 

"  Ah,  Bill,  my  boy,"  said  Huck,  turning  as  to  an  old  acquaint 
ance,  "  is  that  you  !  Why,  where  have  you  beeu  ? — haven't 


66  TUK    PARTISAN,. 

you  for  an  age,  and  didn't  well  know  what  had  become  of  you — 
thought  you  might  have  gone  into  the  swamps  too  with  the  skulk 
ing  rebels." 

"  So  I  have,"  replied  the  other  calmly — "  not  with  the  rebels, 
though.  1  see  none  of  them  to  go  with — but  I  have  been  skirting 
vhe  cypress  for  some  time,  gathering  what  pigs  the  alligators  found 
no  use  for.  Pigs  and  poultry  are  the  rebels  I  look  after.  You  may 
judge  of  my  success  by  their  bawling." 

In  confirmation  of  what  Humphries  had  said,  at  that  moment  the 
collection  of  tied  pigs  with  which  his  cart  had  been  piled  and  the 
tethered  chickens  undergoing  transfer  to  a  more  fixed  dwelling,  and 
tumbled  from  the  mass  where  they  had  quietly  but  confusedly  lain 
for  an  hour  or  two  before — sent  up  a  most  piteous  pleading, — which, 
for  the  time,  effectually  silenced  the  speakers  within.  A  moment's 
pause  obtained,  Humphries  revelled,  though  indirectly,  to  the  ques 
tion  which  he  had  put  to  the  tory  captain  touching  the  pursuit  of 
Frampton  by  Travis ;  and,  without  exciting  his  suspicion  by  a  posi 
tive  inquiry,  strove  to  obtain  information. 

"  Travis  will  find  Framptou  if  he  chooses, — he  knows  the  swamp 
quite  as  well — and  a  lean  dog  for  a  long  chase,  you  know, — that  is, 
if  you  have  given  him  men  enough." 

"  I  gave  him  all  he  wanted  :  ten,  he  said,  would  answer  :  he  could 
have  had  more.  He'll  catch  him,  or  I'm  mistaken." 

"  Yes,  if  he  strikes  a  good  route.  The  old  paths  are  washed  now 
by  the  freshet,  and  he  may  find  it  hard  to  keep  track.  Now,  the 
best  path  for  him  to  take,  captain,  would  have  been  up  over  Terra 
pin  Bridge  by  Turkey  Town.  That  will  bring  him  right  into  the 
heart  of  the  swamp,  where  it's  most  likely  Fmmpton  hides." 

"Terrapin  Bridge — Turkey  Town,"  said  the  other,  seeming  to 
muse.  "  No,  he  said  nothing  of  these  places  :  he  spoke  of — " 

"  Droze's  old  field,"  exclaimed  Humphries,  somewhat  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  that's  the  name ;  he  goes  that  route ;  and  I  remember  he 
spoke  of  another,  where  he  said  the  waters  were  too  high." 

"  Ay — and  does  he  think  to  find  Frampton  on  the  skirts  ? — and 
then,  what  a  round-about  way  by  Droze's  !  eh  !  neighbours  ? — he 
can't  be  there  before  midnight.  But  of  course  he  went  there  ii 
,"  said  Humphries,  insinuating  the  question. 


HOW   THE   SCOUT    WORKS.  57 

"Oulytwo  ho  rrs  gone,"  replied  tho.  oth'-r,  giving1  the  desired 
intelligence ;"  but  lie  won't  do  more  than  slietch  to  the  swamp 
to-night.  He  wants  to  bo  ready  to  make  a  dash  with  the  daylight 
upon  them,  when  he  hopes  to  find  the  fellow  iiot  yet  out  of  his 
nest." 

'lumphries  looked  approvingly  as  he  heard  the  plan.  He  ex 
ch«  jed  glances  of  intelligence  at  intervals  with  Singleton,  who 
listened  attentively  to  this  dialogue,  which  had  wormed  out  the 
secret  of  one  of  those  little  adventures  of  Huck's  party,  in  which  his 
command  was  most  generally  employed.  The  look  of  Singleton 
spoke  clearly  to  Humphries  his  desire  to  have  a  hand  in  the  perfor 
mance  which  was  now  naturally  suggested  to  both.  The  lieutenant, 
eager  like  his  superior,  was  yet  prudent  enough  to  keep  his  counte 
nance.  They  both  looked  unconcerned  enough,  and  now  remained 
silent. 

Huck,  in  the  meantime,  who  had  long  been  desirous  of  securing 
Humphries  for  his  troop,  now  pressed  the  latter  more  earnestly  than 
ever  upon  that  subject.  Taking  him  aside,  he  detailed  to  him  ia 
an  undertone  the  thousand  advantages  of  profit  and  position  which 
must  result  to  him  from  coming  out  in  arms  for  his  majesty,  and 
in  his,  Captain  Hack's,  particular  command  of  cavalry.  It  was 
amusing  to  observe  how  much  stronger  became  his  anxiety  when 
ever  his  eye  rested  upon  the  form  of  Singleton,  whom  he  now 
regarded  in  the  light  of  a  rival  leader.  The  eye  of  young  Hum 
phries,  also,  glanced  frequently  in  the  same  direction,  as,  from  a 
previous  knowledge  of  the  character  of  Singleton,  he  felt  how  impa 
tient  he  would  be  until  he  could  make  the  attack,  which  he  saw  he 
contemplated,  upon  the  marauding  party  which  had  been  sent  out 
under  Travis.  It  was  in  such  little  adventures  that  the  partisan 
warfare  of  Carolina  had  its  origin. 

Humphries,  closely  pressed  by  Huck,  had  yet  ingenuity  enough 
to  evade  his  application  without  offending  his  pride  or  alarming  big 
suspicions.  He  made  sundry  excuses,  simply  as  to  time,  leaving 
',he  tory  to  infer  that  in  the  end  the  recruit  would  certainly  be  his. 

"You  will  soon  have  to  come  out,  Bill,  my  boy;  and  dang  it, 
out  there's  no  better  chance  than  you  have  in  my  troop.  You 
8fl*U  be  my  right-hand  man,  for  I  know  you,  old  fellow — aud  blast 


58  TUK    PA.11T13AX. 

me,  but  I'd  sooner  trust  you  than  any  cliap  of  the  corps.  I  may 
as  well  put  you  down." 

"  No,  not  yet :  I'll  be  ready  to  answer  you  soon,  and  I  can  easily 
make  my  preparations.  You  have  arms  a-plenty?" 

"  Soon  shall  Lave.  Three  wagons  are  ou  their  way  from  Charles 
ton  with  sabres  and  pistols  especially  for  us." 

"•  i  shall,  no  doubt,  want  some  of  them,  and  you  shall  then  hear 
from  me.  There  is  time  enough  in  all  next  week." 

:*  Yes  ;  but  be  quick  about  it,  or  there  will  be  no  picking ;  and 
then  you  have  but  twenty  days,  remember.  The  proclamation 
gives  but  twenty  days,  and  then  Cornwallis  has  sworn  to  treat  as 
rebels,  with  the  utmost  severity  of  the  law,  all  those  who  are  not 
in  arms  for  his  majesty — just  the  same  as  if  they  had  fought 
against  him.  See,  I  have  it  here." 

lie  took  from  his  pocket  the  proclamation,  and  with  it  a  private 
order,  which  was  issued  by  the  commander-in-chief  to  all  the  sub 
ordinate  commands,  giving  directions  for  the  utmost  severity,  and 
prescribing  the  mode  of  punishment  for  the  refractory,  nearly  in  the 
language,  and  to  the  full  effect,  of  Huek's  representations.  Hum 
phries  looked  grave  enough  at  these  crowding  evidences,  but 
resisted,  by  well  urged  evasions,  the  exhortations  of  the  tempter. 
The  tory  captain  was  compelled  to  rest  satisfied  for  the  present, 
assured  that  he  had  held  forth  especial  inducements  to  the  country 
man  which  must  give  his  troop  a  preference  over  any  claim's  that 
might  be  set  up  by  the  rival  recruiting  officer,  as  he  considered 
Sii-.gleton.  With  a  hearty  shake  of  the  hand,  and  a  few  parting 
words  in  whisper  to  his  companion,  he  left  the  hotel  to  make  his 
way — a  subtle  sycophant  with  his  superiors — to  the  presence  of 
ftfajor  Proctor  of  the  Dorchester  garrison,  from  whom  he  had 
received  his  commission. 

Singleton,  while  this  episode  of  Humphries  and  the  tory  had 
been  going  on,  employed  himself  in  occasional  conversation  with 
the  landkr;".  and  sundry  of  the  villagers  in  another  end  of  the 
apartment,  in  this  conversation,  though  studiously  selecting  topics 
of  a  nature  not  to  startle  or  offend  the  fears  or  the  prejudices  of 
way,  he  cci.tr: ved.  with  110  little  ingenuity,  to  bring  about,  every 
aow  aud  then,  occasional  expressions  of  their  feelings  and  opiuioa*. 


EVASION    AXD    DELAY.  69 

lie  saw,  from  these  few  and  brief  evidences,  that  their  feelings  wore 
not  with  their  rulers — that  they  subscribed  simply  to  a  hard  neces 
sity,  and  would  readily  seek  the  means  of  relief,  did  they  know  where 
to  find  it.  lie  himself  took  care,  while  lie  uttered  nothing  which 
could  be  construed  into  an  offence  against  loyalty,  to  frame  what  lu 
did  say  in  such  a  guise  that  it  must  have  touched  and  ministereu 
largely  to  the  existing  provocations.  He  could  see  this  in  the  burn 
ing  indignation  strong  in  every  countenance,  as  he  dwelt  upon  (he 
imperative  necessity  they  were  now  under  of  taking  up  arms  in 
obedjence  to  the  proclamation.  His  urging  of  this  topic  was,  like 
that  of  Huck,  ostensibly  the  obtaining  of  recruits  for  his  contem 
plated  troop.  His  policy  was  one  frequently  acted  upon  in  that 
strange  warfare,  in  which  the  tories,  when  defeated,  found  few  con 
scientious  scruples  to  restrain  them  from  fulling  into  the  ranks  and 
becoming  good  soldiers  along  with  their  conquerors.  Such  device? 
as  that  which  he  now  aimed  to  practise  were  freely  resorted  to ; 
and  the  case  was  not  uncommon  of  a  troop  thus  formed  under  the 
eye  of  the  enemy,  and,  in  his  belief,  to  do  the  battles  of  the  monarch, 
moving  off,  en  masse,  the  first  opportunity,  and  joining  with  their 
fellow -countrymen,  as  well  in  flight  as  in  victory.  Such,  however,  was 
scarcely  now  the  object  of  the  stranger:  he  simply  desired  that  his 
loyalty  might  pass  unquestioned  ;  and  he  put  on  a  habit,  therefore, 
as  a  disguise,  which  but  too  many  natives  wore  with  far  less  scruple, 
and  perhaps  with  some  show  of  grace.  It  may  be  said,  as  highly 
gratifying  to  Singleton,  that  in  the  character  thus  assumed  he  made 
no  converts. 

But  the  bell  for  supper  was  now  ringing,  and,  taking  his  way 
with  the  rest,  he  passed  into  the  inner  apartment.  Bella  Hum 
phries  presided,  her  brother  taking  a  seat  at  the  other  end  of  ihe 
table,  and  ministering  to  the  guests  in  that  quarter.  Singleto. 
was  assigned  a  seat,  possibly  by  way  of  distinction,  close  to  the 
maiden,  who  smiled  graciously  at  his  approach.  Still  she  looked 
not  so  well  satisfied.  Neither  of  her  squires  was  present,  and  her 
eye  wandered  from  side  to  side  among  unattractive  countrymen  at 
the  table,  resting  at  last,  as  with  a  dernier  hope,  upon  the  manly 
and  handsome  face  and  peivon  of  our  adventurer.  The  coquette 
must  be  busy.  It  is  her  necessity.  She  has  smiles  to  circulate, 


60  THE   PARTISAN. 

and,  like  the  counterfeiter  with  false  coin,  she  is  ever  on  the  look 
oat  for  the  fla.1.  While  she  watched  Singleton  with  ready  smiles, 
be  had  an  opportunity  of  scanning  her  features  more  narrowly. 
She  was  very  girlish,  certainly  very  youthful  in  appearance,  and 
her  face  was  decidedly  handsome.  He  saw,  at  a  glance,  that  she 
was  incapable  of  any  of  that  settled  and  solemn  feeling  which 
belongs  to  love,  and  which  can  only  exist  along  with  a  strongly 
marked  character  and  truly  elevated  sentiments.  Her  desire  was 
that  of  display,  and  conquest  made  the  chief  agent  to  this  end.  It 
mattered  not  how  doubtful  was  the  character  of  her  capiivus,  so 
that  they  were  numerous ;  and  Singleton  felt  assured  that  his 
simple  Goose  Creek  convert,  Davis,  but  for  the  lack  of  red  coat  and 
command,  stood  quite  as  good  a  chance  in  the  maiden's  heart  as 
the  more  formidable  sergeant.  How  long  he  would  hav3  scanned 
the  features  which  seemed  not  unwilling  to  attract  his  eye,  we  may 
not  say ;  but  his  gaze  was  at  length  disturbed  by  the  entrance  of 
Davis,  who,  taking  his  seat  at  the  opposite  corner  of  the  table,  now 
appeared  in  a  better  and  a  more  conciliatory  humour.  He  addressed 
some  country  compliment  to  Bella,  which  she  was  not  displeased  to 
listen  to,  as  she  was  perfectly  satisfied  to  have  a  swain,  no  matter 
who,  in  the  absence  of  the  greater  favourite  She  answered  some 
few  remarks  of  Singleton  and  Davis  with  a  pretty,  childish  sim 
plicity,  which  showed  that,  after  all,  the  misfortune  of  the  girl  was 
only  a  deficiency  in  the  more  interesting  points  of  character,  and 
not  the  presence  of  any  improper  or  wanton  state  of  feeling. 

Meantime  the  supper  proceeded.  Towards  its  conclusion, 
Humphries,  the  brother,  giving  Davis  a  look  and  a  sign,  which  the 
latter  seemed  to  comprehend,  left  the  apartment.  Davis  followed 
him.  They  were  gone  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  which  time 
was  spent  by  Singleton  in  a  lively  chat  with  the  girl,  when,  through 
the  window,  he  saw  the  face  of  a  man,  and  the  motion  of  a  hand, 
which  beckoned  him.  Jn  a  moment  after  the  person  was  gone ; 
and,  suflVring  some  few  seconds  to  elapse,  Singleton  also  rose  and 
obeyed  tne  pi^nu!.  He  took  his  way  into  the  yard,  and  under  the 
shadow  of  a  tree,  at  a  little  distance  from  the  house,  distinguished 
the  person  of  the  younger  Humphries.  Singleton  at  once  ap 
proached  him — tb'j  other  motioned  silence,  seeing  him  about  to 


SCHEilES   AFOOT.  61 

spe-ik,  and  led   him    to    the   stable,  where   all  was   perfectly  IL 
shadow. 

"  We  are  safe  now,"  said  he.  Singleton  immediately  addressed 
him,  and  with  some  show  of  impatience,  on  a  subject  which  had 
much  employed  his  thoughts  during  the  past  hour. 

"  Well,  Humphries,  say,  can  we  not  strike  at  that  fellow  Tracy  ? 
[s  it  possible  to  do  anything  with  his  detachment  ?" 

"  Travis,  not  Tracy,  major,"  replied  the  other.  "  It  is  possible, 
sir ;  and  there  is  a  strong  chance  of  our  success  if  we  manage  well, 
and  if  you  can  postpone  going  to  '  The  Oaks'  to-night." 

"  True,"  said  the  other ;  "  I  should  like  very  much  to  go  there  ; 
but  this  movement  of  Tracy — or  Travis,  you  say — gives  us  a  good 
beginning,  which  we  ought  on  no  account  to  miss.  Besides,  we 
should  put  your  men  on  their  guard.  'Are  they  not  in  some 
danger  ?" 

"  Not  if  they  watch  well ;  but  there's  no  answering  for  new 
hands.  They  must  have  practice  before  they  can  learn,  and  down 
here,  they've  had  but  little  ygt.  They're  not  like  your  Santee 
boys  I've  heard  you  tell  of." 

"Willing  soon  will!"  said  the  other.  "But  let  us  move.  I'll 
say  no  more  of  '  The  Oaks'  to-night  at  least.  We  can  move  there 
to-morrow.  Of  course  you  lead  the  route,  for  I  know  nothing 
about  it." 

"  Trust  to  me ;  and,  major,  go  back  to  the  house  quietly.  Wait 
till  you  hear  my  whistle  three  times — thus.  It's  an  old  signal, 
which  you'll  have  to  learn  here,  as  our  little  squad  all  knows  it, 
and  knows  nothing  else  by  way  of  music.  Meantime  I'll  get  things 
in  readiness,  and  set  Davis  to  carry  out  the  horses  to  the  bush." 

"  Is  he  resolved  to  go  with  us?"  was  Singleton's  question. 

"True  as  steel.  A  little  weak  o'  heart,  sir,  about  that  foolish 
girl — but  that's  all  the  better,  for  it  makes  him  hate  the  British  the 
more.  Here  he  comes.  You  had  better  go  now,  major,  and  let 
us  be  as  little  seen  together  as  may  be.  You'll  mind  the  whistle 
— thus,  three  times ;"  and  in  a  low  tone  Humphries  gave  him  the 
signal.  Singleton  went  towards  the  house,  in  the  shadow  of  which 
he  was  soon  lost  from  sight,  while  Humphries  and  Davis  pro 
ceeded  to  the  farther  arrangement'  of  the  enterprise. 
3* 


f>2  TiiK    P. \riTl SAN. 

It  was  not  lung  before  this  was  complete-!,  and  with  a  rush  of 
pleasure  to  hi.s  bears.  Major  Sing'lrton  heard  the  thrice-uttered  note 
— the  siguul  agreed  upon— directly  beneath  his  chamber  window. 
He  rose  at  the  sound,  and  silently  descending  the  stairs,  passed 
through  the  hall,  where,  in  something  like  uncomfortable  solitude, 
the  fair  Bella  sat  alone.  Sha  looked  up  as  she  heard  his  footsteps, 
and  the  gracious  smile  which  her  lips  put  on,  was  an  invitation  to 
make  himself  happy  in  a  seat  beside  her.  But  he  resisted  the 
blandishment,  and  lifting  his  hat  as  he  passed,  with  a  smile  in 
return,  he  soon  disappeared  from  her  presence,  and  joined  the  two 
who  awaited  him.  All  was  ready  for  departure,  but  Davis  craved 
a  few  minutes'  indulgence  to  return  to  tho  house. 

"  Why,  what  should  carry  you  back,  Davis  ?"  asked  Humphries, 
peevishly. 

"  Nothing,  Bill;  but  I  must — I  will  go,"  said  the  other. 

"  I  see,  I  see :  you  will  be  as  foolish  as  ever,"  exclaimed  the 
former,  as  the  lover  moved  away. 

"  The  poor  fellow's  half  mad  after  my  sister,  major,  and  she,  you 
see,  don't  care  a  straw  about  him.  She  happened  to  smile  on  hira 
at  supper-table,  and  he  takes  it  for  granted  he's  in  a  fair  way.  We 
must  wait  for  him,  I  suppose ;  and  if  I  know  Bella,  he  won't  keep 
us  long." 

Meanwhile,  the  seat  beside  her,  which  her  smile  had  beckoned 
Major  Singleton  to  occupy,  had  been  eagerly  filled  by  Davis.  The 
girl  was  not  displeased  to  see  him :  she  was  lonesome,  wanted 
company,  and  liked,  as  all  other  coquettes  do,  to  have  continually 
in  .her  presence  some  one  or  other  of  the  many  subjects  of  her 
daily  conquest.  It  did  not  much  concern  her  which,  so  that  she 
was  allowed  to  carry  on  her  pretty  little  practice.  Her  gracious- 
ness  softened  very  greatly  the  moody  spirit  of  her  swain,  so  that 
he  half  repented  of  that  rashness  which  was  about  to  place  him  in 
a  position  calculated,  under  every  probability,  to  wrest  him,  for  a 
time  at  least,  from  the  enjoyment  of  that  society  which  he  so  much 
coveted.  Her  gentleness,  her  good-nature,  her  smiles — so  very 
unfrequent  to  him  for  so  long  a  time — almost  turned  his  brain,  and 
his  professions  of  love  grew  passionate,  and  he  himself  almost 
eloquent  in  their  utterance.  Surely,  there  is  no  tyranny  like  that 


BELLA    AND   JOHN    DAVIS.  G8 

of  love,  since  it  puts  us  so  completely  in  subjection  to  the  character 
which  deliberate  reason  would  teach  us  to  despise. 

But  in  the  midst  of  his  pleading,  and  while  she  regarded  him 
with  her  most  gracious  smile,  the  voice  of  the  obtrusive  Sergeant 
Hastings  was,  heard  in  the  tap-room,  and  the  sweet  passages  ol 
love  were  at  once  over  between  the  couple. 

"As  rocks  that  have  been  rent  asunder"  was  their  new  position. 
The  maiden  drew  her  chair  a  foot  back  from  its  place,  and  when 
Davis  looked  into  her  face,  and  beheld  the  corresponding  change 
in  its  expression,  he  rose  up,  with  a  bitter  curse  in  his  throat, 
which  he  was  nevertheless  too  well  behaved  to  utter,  lie  wanted 
no  better  evidence  of  her  heartlessness,  and  with  a  look  which  said 
what  his  tongue  could  not  have  spoken,  he  seemed  tc  warn  her 
that  he  was  lost  to  her  for  ever.  His  determination  was  at  length 
complete,  and  rapidly  -passing  the  luckier  sergeant,  who  now 
entered  the  apartment,  he  was  soon  again  in  company  with  the 
two  he  had  left  in  waiting.  Humphries  smiled  as  he  saw  the 
desperate  manner  of  his  comrade,  but  nothing  was  said,  and  the 
three  together  made  their  way  on  foot,  till,  leaving  the  village, 
they  entered  the  fore.st  to  the  right,  and  found  the  clump  of  trees 
to  Avhich  their  horses  had  been  fastened.  In  a  moment  they  were 
mounted  and  speeding  with  the  wind  towards  the  close  and  scarcely 
penetrable  estuary  known  as  the  Cypress  Swamp,  forming  a  spa 
cious  reservoir  for  the  Ashley,  from  which,  by  little  and  little, 
winding  as  it  goes,  it  expands  at  length,  a  few  miles  below,  into  & 
noble  and  navigable  river. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

•Stretch  out  thy  watd  before  thou  set'st  thy  (bo 
Ti»  a  dim  way  before  thee,  and  the  tete* 
Of  byegone  centuries  have  spread  their  armr 
Athwart  thy  pMh.     Now  make  thy  footing  mm 
And  now,  God  cheer  us,  for  the  toil  is  done." 

NIGHT  had  fairly  set  in — a  clear  starlight  night-  before  the  three 
set  forth  upon  their  proposed  adventure.  To  Majo.  Singleton,  who 
was  a  native  of  the  middle  country,  and  had  lived  J^retofbre 
almost  exclusively  in  it,  the  path  they  now  travelled  wa?  entirely 
unknown.  It  was  necessary,  therefore,  to  move  on  slowJy  and  with 
due  circumspection.  But  for  this,  the  party  would  have  advanced 
with  as  much  speed  as  if  they  were  pursuing  the  common  highway  ; 
for,  to  the  other  two,  accustomed  all  their  lives  to  the  woodland 
cover  and  the  tangled  recesses  of  the  swamps,  their  present  route. 
uncleared,  in  close  thicket  growth,  and  diverging  as  it  continually 
did,  was,  nevertheless,  no  mystery.  Though  necessarily  soinewha! 
slow  in  their  progress,  the  delay  was  much  less  than  might  have 
been  expected ;  for  Singleton,  however  ignorant  of  the  immediate 
ground  over  which  they  sped,  was  yet  thoroughly  versed  in  foreet 
life,  and  had  traversed  the  larger  and  denser  swamps  of  the  Santee, 
a  task,  though  similar,  infinitely  more  difficult  and*  extensive  than 
the  one  now  before  him.  After  a  little  while,  therefore,  wher  his 
*eyc  grew  more  accustomed  to  the  peculiar  shades  about  him,  he 
spurred  his  good  steed  forward  with  much  more  readiness  than  at 
their  first  setting  out,  and  it  was  not  long  'of  ri  the  yielding  of  the 
soil  beneath  his  hoofs  and  the  occasional  plash  of  the  water,  toge 
ther  with  the  mor .,  iroquent  appearance  <~,f  the  solemn  and  ghostly 
cypresses  arour-.'  iiom,  gave  sufficient  indication  of  the  proximitv 
of  the  swamp  recesses. 

They  had  ridden  some  five  miles,  and  in  all  this  time  no  wore 
had  beeu  spoken  by  either  of  the  three,  except  when,  heie  aud 


THE    CYPRESS   SWAJIF.  65 

there,  an  increased  difficulty  in  the  path  led  Humphries  to  the 
utterance  of  some  caution  to  his  companions.  They  were  now 
close  upon  the  cypress  causeway,  and  the  swamp  was  gathering 
around  them.  Their  pace  grew  slower  and  more  fatiguing,  for  the 
freshet  had  swept  the  temporary  structure  over  which  they  rode, 
and  many  of  the  vails  were  floating  in  their  path.  Little  gaps  were 
continually  presenting  themselves,  many  of  which  they  saw  not,  but 
which,  fortunately  for  their  safety,  were  generally  avoided  by  the 
horses  without  any  call  for  interference  on  the  part  of  their  riders. 
Stumbling  sometimes,  however,  they  were  warned  not  to  press  their 
.animals ;  and  picking  their  way  with  as  much  care  as  possible,  they 
went  on  in  single  file,  carefully  and  slowly,  over  the  narrow  and 
broken  embankment.  It  was  at  this  part  of  their  progress  that 
Humphries  broke  out  more  freely  into  speech  than  he  had  done 
before,  for  his  usual  characteristic  was  that  of  taciturnity. 

"Now  I  do  hate  these  dams  and  causeways;  our  people  know 
nothing  of  road-making,  and  they  ridge  and  bridge  it,  while  our 
bones  ache  and  our  legs  go  through  at  every  step  we  take  in  going 
over  them.  Yet  they  won't  learn — they  won't  look  or  listen.  They 
do  as  they  have  done  a  hundred  years  before,  and  all  your  teaching 
is  of  no  manner  of  use.  Here  is  this  causeway  now — every  freshet 
must  break  its  banks  and  tear  up  the  poles,  yet  they  come  back  a 
\voek  after,  and  lay  them  down  just  as  before.  They  never  ask  if 
there's  a  way  to  build  it,  which  is  to  make  it  lasting.  They 
never  think  of  such  a  thing.  Their  fathers  did  so  a  hundred  years 
ago,  and  that's  reason  enough  why  they  should  do  so  now." 

"  And  what  plan  have  you,  Humphries,  by  which  to  make  the 
dam  solid  and  strong  against  the  freshets,  such  as  we  have,  that 
sweep  every  thing  before  them,  and  sometimes  give  us  half  a  dozen 
feet  of  water  for  a  week,  over  a  road  that  we  have  been  accustomed 
to  walk  dryshod  ?  " 

"To  bo  sure  there  is  a  way,  major,  and  with  far  less  labour. 
There's  no  use  in  building  a  road  unless  you  give  it  a  backbone. 
You  must  run  a  ridge  through  it,  and  all  the  freshets  make  it 
stronger,  for  they  wash  the  refuse  and  the  mud  up  against  it, 
instead  of  washing  it  away.  You  see  all  good  roads  rise  in  the 
centre.  TlK.  -.a'. 3  mu  off  and  never  settle,  which  thov  always  do 


66  THE     1'AKTISAN. 

in  the  hollows  between  these  poles.  You  fell  your  tree,  always  a 
good  big  one,  to  make  your  ridge — your  backbone ;  and  if  it  be  a 
causeway  like  this,  running  through  a  swamp,  that  you  would 
build,  why  you  fell  your  dozen  trees,  or  more,  according  to  the 
freshet's  call  for  them.  You  lay  them  side  by  side,  not  across,  but 
up  and  down  the  road,  taking  care  to  put  the  big  ones  in  the  cen 
tre.  So  you  may  run  it  for  miles,  heaping  the  earth  up  to  I  he 
logs.  A  road  made  after  that  fashion  will  stand  a  thousand  years, 
•while  such  a  thing  as  this  must  always  be  washing  away  with  every 
freshet.  It  takes,  in  the  first  place,  you  see,  a  great  deal  more  of 
labour  and  time,  and  a  great  deal  more  of  timber,  to  build  it  after 
this  fashion  ;  then,  it  takes  more  dirt  to  cover  the  rails — a  hundred 
times  the  quantity — and  unless  they're  well  covered,  they  can't,  be 
kept  down;  they  will  always  come  loose,  and  be  floating  with  every 
rain,  and  then  the  water  settles  heavily  in  their  places  and  between 
them.  This  can't  be  the  case  where  you  lay  the  timber  up  and 
down,  as  I  tell  you.  It  must  stand  fast ;  for  the  rain  can't  settle, 
and  the  earth  gathers  close  to  the  ridge,  and  hugs  it  tighter  the 
more  the  water  beats  on  it.  Besides,  building  it  this  way,  von  use 
heavy  timber,  which  the  waters  can't  move  at  any  season.  Hut- 
hero  we  stop ;  we  have  no  further  use  for  the  causeway  to-night ; 
there's  our  mark.  See  to  that  white  tree  there;  it's  a  blasted  pine, 
and  it  shines  in  a  dark  night  as  if  it  was  painted.  The  lightning 
peeled  it  from  top  to  toe.  It's  a'most  two  years  since.  I  was  not 
far  off  in  the  swamp,  catching  terrapins,  when  it  was  struck,  and  1 
was  stupified  for  an  hour  after,  and  my  head  had  a  ringing  in  it  1 
didn't  get  rid  of  for  a  month." 

"  What,  do  we  go  aside  here  F'  inquired  Davis,  who  did  not  seem 
to  relish  the  diversion,  as  the  first  plunge  they  were  required  to 
make  from  the  broken  causeway  was  into  a  turbid  pond,  black,  and 
almost  covered  with  fragments  of  decayed  timber  and  loose  bundles 
of  brush. 

"Yes,  that's  our  path,"  replied  Humphries,  who  resolutely  p"t 
his  horse  forward  as  he  spoke. 

"  This  is  about  one  of  the  worst  places,  major,  that  we  shall  have 
to  go  through,  and  we  take  it  on  purpose,  so  that  we  may  not  be 
tracked  so  easily.  Here,  when  we  leave  the  causeway,  we  make  no 


HOW    TO    HIDE.  67 

it  ark,  and  few  people  think  to  look  for  us  in  tlie  worst  place  on  the 
line.  No,  indeed  ;  most  people  have  a  Ipvo  to  make  hard  things 
easy,  though  they  ought  to  know  that  when  a  mau  wants  to  hide, 
lit;  takes  a  hole,  and  not  a  highway,  to  do  it  in.  Here,  major,  this 
way — to  youi  left,  Davis — through  the  hog." 

The  party  followed  as  their  guide  directed,  and  after  some  twenty 
minutes'  plunging,  they  were  deep  in  the  shadow  and  the  shelter  of 
tht;  swamp.  The  gloom  was  thicker  around  them,  and  was  only 
relieved  by  the  pale  and  skeleton  forms  of  the  cypresses,  clustering 
in  groups  along  the  plashy  sides  of  the  still  lake,  and  giving  meet 
dwelling-place  to  the  screech-owl,  that  hooted  at  intervals  from 
their  rugged  branches.  Sometimes  a  phosphorescent  gleam  played 
over  the  stagnant  pond,  into  which  the  terrapin  plunged  heavily  at 
their  approach  ;  while  on  the  neighbouring  banks  the  frogs  of  all 
degrees  croaked  forth  their  inharmonious  chant,  making  the  scene 
more  hideous,  aud  certainly  adding  greatly  to  the  sense  of  gloom 
which  it  inspired  in  those  who  penetrated  it.  A  thousand  other 
sounds  tilled  up  the  pauses  between  the  conclusion  of  one  and  the 
commencement  of  another  discordant  chorus  from  these  admitted 
croakers — sounds"  of  alarm,  of  invitation,  of  exulting  tyranny — the 
cry  of  the  little  bird,  when  the  black-snake,  hugging  the  high  tree; 
climbs  up  to  the  nest  of  her  young,  while,  with  shrieks  of  rage;, 
Happing  his  roused  wings,  the  male  flies  furiously  at  his  head,  and 
gallantly  enough,  though  vainly,  endeavours  to  drive  him  back 
from  his  unholy  purpose — the  hum  of  the  drowsy  beetle,  the  faint 
chirp  of  the  cricket,  and  the  buzz  of  the  innumerable  thousands  of 
bee,  bird,  and  insect,  which  make  the  swamps  of  the  South,  in  mid- 
•uunmer  and  its  commencement,  the  vast  storehouse,  in  all  its  forms, 
of  the  most  various  and  animated  life — all  these  were  around  the 
adventurers,  with  their  gloomy  and  distracting  noises,  until  they 
became  utterly  unheeded  at  last,  and  the  party  boldly  kept  its 
onward  course  into  their  yet  deeper  recesses. 

'•'•  Wtv,  Humphries,"  said  Major  Singleton,  at  length  breaking 
the  sileu^e,  "so  far,  so  good;  and  now  what  is  our  farther  progress, 
and  vhat  the  chances  for  trapping  this  Travis  ?  Will  he  not  steal 
4  ir arch  upon  us,  and  be  into  the  swamp  before  daylight!" 

*  llever  fear  it,  major,"  replied   the   other,  coolly  enough,  while 


68  THE   PARTISAN. 

keeping  on  his  way.  "  You  remember,  sir,  what  Iluck  £•"''  us  of 
his  plan.  He  will  place  himself  upon  the  skirts  of  the  swamp, 
high  above  the  point  at  which  we  struck,  and  keep  quiet  till  morn 
ing.  He  will  be  up  betimes,  and  all  that  we  must  do  is  to  be  up 
before  him.  We  have  a  long  ride  for  it,  as  it  is  one  part  of  our 
work  to  stop  him  before  he  gets  too  far  into  the  brush.  I  know  his 
course  just  as  if  I  saw  him  on  it." 

"  Yes ;  such,  indeed,  may  ha>ve  been  the  plan  ;  but  is  there  no 
chance  of  his  departing  from  it  ?  A  good  leader  will  not  hold  him 
self  bound  to  a  prescribed  course,  if  he  finds  a  better.  He  may 
push  for  the  swamp  to-night,  and  I  am  very  anxious  that  we  should 
be  in  time  to  strike  him  efficiently." 

"  We  shall,  sir,"  replied  the  other,  calmly  ;  "  we  shall  have  suffi 
cient  time,  for  I  know  Travis  of  old.  He  is  a  good  hound  for 
scent,  but  a  poor  one  for  chase.  He  goes  slow  to  be  certain,  and  is 
always  certain  to  be  slow.  It's  nature  with  him  now,  though  quick 
enough,  they  say,  some  twenty  years  ago,  when  he  went  out  after 
the  Oherokees.  Besides,  he  has  a  long  sweep  to  make  before  he 
gets  fairly  into  the  svyamp,  and  the  freshet  we  have  had  lately  will 
throw  him  out  often  enough,  and  make  his  way  linger.  We  shall 
be  in  time." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  so  sure  of  your  man,  Humphries.  I  would 
not  like  to  lose  a  good  chance  at  the  party.  A  successful  blow 
struck  in  this  quarter,  and  just  at  this  moment,  would  have  a  fine 
effect.  Why,  man,  it  would  bring  out  those  fellows  handsomely, 
whose  ears  are  now  full  of  this  protection  business,  which  troubles 
them  so  much.  If  they  must  fight,  they  will  see  the  wisdom  of 
taking  part  with  the  side  which  does  not  call  upon  them  to  strike 
friends  or  brethren.  They  must  join  with  us  to  a  man,  6r  go  to  the 
West  Indies,  and  that,  no  doubt,  some  of  the  dastards  will  not  fail 
to  do  in  preference.  God  help  me,  but  I  can  scarce  keep  from 
cursing  them,  as  I  think  on  their  degradation." 

"  Bad  enough,  major,  bad  enough  when  it's  the  poor  man,  with 
out  house  and  home,  and  nothing  to  live  for  and  nothing  to  Jose, 
who  takes  up  with  the  enemy  and  fights  his  battles ;  but  it's  much 
worse  when  the  rich  men  arid  the  gentlemen,  who  c-u:.}.?  Lc  &now 
better,  and  to  set  a  good  example,  it's  much  worse  wheo  tue^'re  the 


RICH  A;XD  POOR.  69 

first  to  do  so.  Now  I  know  and  I  feel,  though  I  expect  you  won't 
be  so  willing  to  believe  it,  that,  after  all,  it's  the  poor  man  who  is 
the  best  friend  of  his  country  in  the  time  of  danger.  He  doesn't 
reckon  how  much  he's  to  lose,  or  what  risk  he's  to  run,  when  there's- 
a  sudden  difficulty  to  get  through  with.  He  doesn't  think  till  it's 
all  over,  and  then  he  may  ask  how  much  he  gains  by  it,  without 
getting  a  civil  answer." 

"  There's  truth  in  what  you  say,  Humphries,  and  we  do  the  poor 
but  slack  justice  in  our  estimation  of  them.  We  see  onlv  their 
poverty,  and  not  their  feelings  and  affections ;  we  have,  therefore, 
but  little  sympathy,  and  perhaps  nothing  myre  than  life  and  like 
wants  in  common  with  them." 

"  That's  a  God's  truth  here,  major,  where  the  poor  man  does  the 
fighting  and  the  labour,  and  the  rich  man  takes  protection  to  save 
his  house  from  the  fire.  Now,  it's  just  so  with  this  poor  man 
Frampton.  He  was  one  of  Buford's  men,  and  when  Tarleton  came 
upon  them,  cutting  them  up  root  and  branch,  he  took  to  the  swamp, 
and  wouldn't  come  in,  all  his  neighbours  could  do,  because  the  man 
had  a  good  principle  for  his  country.  Well,  you  see  what  he's 
lost ; — you  can't  know  his  sufferings  till  you  see  him,  major,  and  I 
won't  try  to  teach  you  ;  but  if  there's  a  man  can  look  on  him,  and 
see  his  misery,  and  know  what  did  it,  without  taking  up  sword  and 
rifle,  I  don't  want  to  know  that  man.  I  know  one  that's  of  a  dif 
ferent  way  of  thinking,  and  willing  to  do  both." 

"  And  I  another !"  exclaimed  Davis,  who  had  been  silent  in  their 
ride  hitherto. 

"  Is  Frampton  here  in  the  swamp — and  shall  we  see  him  to-night  ?" 
asked  Singleton,  curious  to  behold  a  man  who,  coming  from  the 
poorest  class  of  farmers  in  the  neighbourhood,  had  maintained  such 
a  tenacious  spirit,  of  resistance  to  invasion,  when  the  more  leading 
people  around  him  and  indeed  the  greater  majority,  had  subscribed 
to  terms  of  indulgence,  which,  if  less  honourable,  were  here  far  more 
safe.  The  sufferings  of  the  man  himself,  the  cruel  treatment  his 
wife  had  undergone,  and  her  subsequent  death,  also  contributed 
largely  to  that  interest  which,  upon  hearing  his  simple  but  pathetic 
story,  the  speaker  had  immediately  felt  {o  know  him. 

"  We  shall  see  him  in  an  hour,  major,  and  a  melancholy  sight  it 


70  TllK    ['ARTISAN'. 

is ;  you'll  bo  surprised,  and  if  you  aint  very  strong  of  heart,  it  will 
go  nigh  to  sicken  you.  But  it  does  good  to  see  it  for  one's  self;  it 
makes  one  strong  against  tyranny." 

•'  It  grows  very  dark  here." 

"  That's  water  before  you,  and  a  good  big  pond,  too,"  said  Davis. 

"  This  is  the  track,  major  ;"  and  Humphries  led  the  way  to  the 
left,  inclining  more  in  the  direction  of  the  river.  A  sullen, 
child-like  cry,  succeeded  by  a  sudden  plunge  into  the  water,  indi 
cated  the  vicinity  of  an  alligator,  which  they  had  disturbed  iu  his 
own  home ;  the  rich  globules  of  light,  showering  over  the  water 
around  him,  giviug  a  singular  beauty  to  the  scene,  in  every  other 
respect  so  dark  and  gloomy.  They  kept  continually  turning  in  a 
zigzag  fashion  almost  at  every  step,  to  avoid  the  waving  vine,  the 
close  thicket,  or  the  half-stagnant  creek,  crowded  with  decayed 
fragments  of  an  older  and  an  overthrown  forest. 

A  shrill  whistle  at  this  moment,  thrice  repeated,  saluted  their  ears. 
It  was  caught  up  in  the  distance  by  another,  and  another,  in  a  voice 
so  like,  that  they  might  almost  have  passed  for  so  many  echoes  of  the 
same. 

"Our  sentries  watch  closely,  major ;  we  must  answer  them,  or  we 
may  sup  on  cold  lead,"  said  Humphries.  As  he  spoke,  he  responded 
to  the  signal,  and  his  answer  was  immediately  followed  by  th«i 
appearance  of  a  figure  emerging  from  behind  a  tree  that  bulged  oul 
a  little  to  the  left  of  the  tussock  upon  which  they  were  now  stand 
ing.  The  dim  outline  only,  and  no  feature  of  the  new-comer,  wan 
distinguishable  by  the  group. 

"  Ha !  Warner,  you  watch  ? — All's  well ;  and  now  lead  the  way* 
Are  all  the  boys  in  camp?" 

"  All !"  was  the  reply ;  "  and  a  few  more  come  in  from  Buford' 
corps  who  know  Frampton." 

"  And  how  is  he  ? — does  he  know  them  ?" 

"He's  in  a  bad  fix,  and  knows  nothing.     You  can  hardly  get 
word  out  of  him  since  his  wife's  come." 

"  His  wife  !  Why,  man,  what  do  you  think  of? — his  wife's  dead  !' 
exclaimed  Humphries  with  surprise. 

"  Yes — we  know  that;  but  he  brought  her,  all  the  same  as  ifslv 
w«a  alive,  on  1m  shoulders,  and  he  won't  give  her  up.  There  h« 


CLOSK   WATCH — THE    SIGNAL.  71 

its,  close  alongside  of  her,  watching  her  all  the  time,  and  brushing 
ae  flies  from  her  face.  He  don't  seem  to  mind  that  she's  dead." 

"  Great  God  !"  exclaimed  Singleton,  "  the  unhappy  man  is  mad. 
<ei  us  push  on,  and  see  what  can  be  done  for  him." 

"  Ah !  nothing  can  be  done  for  him,  I'm  afeared,"  answered 
[umphries.  But,  without  a  word  farther,  following  their  new 
uide,  Warner,  they  advanced  upon  their  way,  until  the  blaze  of  a 
uge  fire,  bursting  as  it  were  out  of  the  very  bosom  of  the  darkness, 
»e  wavingly  before  them.  The  camp  of  the  outlawed  whigs,  or 
;bels  as  they  were  styled  by  the  enemy,  lonely  and  unattractive,  on 

little  island  of  the  swamp,  in  a  few  moments  after  rose  fully  in 
leir  sight ;  and  plunging  into  the  creek  that  surrounded  it,  though 
vimming  at  that  moment,  a  bound  or  two  carried  them  safely  over 
id  they  stood  in  the  presence  of  their  comrades. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

"  Do  I  not  live  for  it  T    I  have  no  life, 
But  in  the  hope  that  life  may  bring  with  it 
The  bitter-sweet  of  vengeance  " 

THK  gloomy  painter  would  have  done  much  with  the  scene  before 
us.  The  wild  and  mystic  imagination  would  have  made  it  one  of 
suj  ematural  terrors ;  and  fancy,  fond  of  the  melancholy  twilight, 
would  have  endowed  the  dim  shadows,  lurking  like  so  many  spectres 
between  the  bald  cypresses,  with  a  ghostly  character,  and  most 
unhallowed  purpose.  Though  familiar  with  such  abodes,  Singleton, 
as  he  looked  upon  the  strange  groupings  thrown  along  the  sombre 
groundwork,  was  impressed  with  a  lively  sense  of  its  imposing  feli 
city.  They  stood  upon  an  island  in  the  very  centre  of  the  swamp — 
one  of  those  little  islands,  the  tribute  ooze  of  numerous  minor  water 
courses,  hardening  into  solidity  at  last.  These,  beating  their  feeble 
tides  upon  a  single  point,  in  process  of  time  create  the  barrier  whieh 
is  to  usurp  their  own  possessions.  Here,  the  rank  matter  of  the 
swamp,  its  slime  and  rubbish,  resolving  themselves  by  a  natural  but 
rapid  decomposition  into  one  mass,  yield  the  thick  luxuriance  of  soi' 
from  which  springs  up  the  overgrown  tree,  which  throws  out  a 
thousand  branches,  and  seems  to  have  existed  as  many  years — in 
whose  bulk  we  behold  an  emblem  of  majesty,  and,  in  whose  term 
of  life,  standing  in  utter  defiance  of  the  sweeping  hurricane,  we 
have  an  image  of  strength  which  compels  our  admiration,  and 
sometimes  the  more  elevated  acknowledgment  of  our  a*e.  Thus, 
gathering  on  this  insulated  bed,  a  hundred  solemn  cypresses  wingk-d 
their  gaunt,  spectral  forms  with  the  verdant  freshness  of  the  water- 
oak — the  rough  simplicity  and  height  of  the  pine — all  intertwined 
and  bound  together  in  the 'common  guardianship  of  the  8^->t,  by  the 
bulging  tody  of  the  luxuriant  grape-vine,  almost  rivalling  ii;  thick 
ness,  aid  .V;  surpj,o:ing  in  strength,  tha  ixves  from  ::hich  il 


THE    C.A.MI'   OF    rilK    PARTISANS.  73 

db]  euded — these  formed  a  natural  rojf  to  the  island,  circumscribing 
its  limits  even  more  effectually  than  did  the  narrow  creek  by  which 
it  had  been  isolated,  and  through  which  the  tribute  waters  of  this 
wide  estuary  found  their  way,  after  a  few  miles  of  contracted  jour 
neying,  into  the  bed  and  bosom  of  the  Ashley. 

A  couple  of  huge  fires,  which  oar  party  had  seen  in  glimpses 
while  approaching,  were  in  full  blaze  upon  the  island ;  one,  the 
largest,  near  its  centre;  the  other  somewhat  apart,  upon  a  lilllc 
isthmus  which  it  thrust  forth  into  the  mouth  of  the  creek.  A  run  ml 
the  former  lay  a  singular  assemblage  of  persons,  single,  or  in  groups, 
•and  in  every  position.  These  were  not  more  than  twenty  in  all,  but 
so  disposed  as  to  seem  much  more  numerous  to  the  casual  spectator. 
Three,  in  the  glare  of  the  fire,  sat  upon  a  log  at  cards,  one  at  either 
end,  and  the  third,  squat  upon  the  ground  beside  it.  A  few  slept* 
some  w-re  engaged  in  conversation,  while  one,  more  musical  than 
his  neighbours,  broke  into  a  song  of  some  length,  in  which  the 
current  situation  of  the  things  around  him  underwent  improvisation. 
A  stout  negro  prepared  the  evening  meal,  and  passed  between  the 
card-players  and  the  fire  to  their  occasional  inconvenience;  their 
sharp  but  unheeded  denunciations  being  freely  bestowed  at  every 
repetition  of  the  offence.  The  dress  and  accoutrements  of  this 
collection  were  not  less  novel,  and  far  more  outre,  than  their 
several  positions  and  employments.  Certainly,  taste  had  but  lit 
tle  share  in  their  toilet  arrangements,  since  the  hair  of  some  of 
them  flew  dishevelled  in  the  wind,  or  lay  matted  upon  their 
brows,  unconscious  of  a  comb.  The  faces  generally  of  the  party 
were  smeared,  and  some  of  them  absolutely  blackened,  by  the 
pmoke  of  the  pine-wood  fires  which  at  night  were  kept  continually 
burning  around  them.  This  had  most  effectually  begrimed  their 
features,  and  their  garments  had  not  failed  to  partake  of  the  same 
colouring.  These,  too,  were  as  various  as  the  persons  who  wore 
them.  The  ragged  coat,  the  round-jacket,  and  sometimes  the  entire 
ftVence  of  both,  in  the  case  of  some  individual  otherwise  conspicu 
ous  enough,  destroyed  nil  chance  of  uniformity  in  the  troop.  There 
was  but  one  particular  in  which  their  garb  seemed  generally  to 
agree,  and  that  was  in  the  coonskin  cap  which  surmounted  the 
heads  of  most  of  them — worn  jauntily  upon  the  side  of  the  head, 


74  THE    PARTISAN 

with  slips  that  flapped  over  the  ears,  and  the  i.';,il  of  the  anima. 
depending  from  front  or  rear,  tassel-fashion,  according  to  the  taste 
of  the  wearer.  Considering  such  an  assemblage,  so  dispc/.ed,  so 
habited,  in  connection  with  the  situation  and  circumstances  in  which 
we  find  them,  and  we  shall  form  no  very  imperfect  idea  of  the  moral 
effect  which  their  appearance  muxt  have  nad  upon  the  new  comers. 
The  boisterous  laugh,the  angry,  sharp  retort,  the  ready  song  from 
some  sturdy  bacchanal,  and  the  silent  sleeper  undisturbed  amid 
all  the  uproar,  made,  of  themselves,  a  picture  to  the  mind  not  likely 
to  be  soon  forgotten.  Then,  when  we  beheld  the  flaming  of  the 
torch  in  the  deep  dark  which  it  only  for  a  moment  dissipates,  and 
which  crowds  back,  ,is  with  a  solid  body,  into  the  spot  from  which 
it  has  been  temporarily  driven — the  light  flashing  along  and 
reflected  back  from  the  sullen  waters  of  the  creek ; — and  listen,  at 
the  same  moment,  to  the  cry  of  the  screech-owl  as  the  intruder 
scares  him  from  Itis  porch — the  plaint  of  the  whippoorwill,  in  return, 
as  if  even  the  clamour  of  the  obscene  bird  had  in  it  something  of 
sympathy  for  the  wounded  spirit, — these,  with  the  croaking  of  the 
frogs  in  millions,  with  which  the  swamp  was  a  dwelling-place  among 
a  thousand,  were  all  well  calculated  to  awaken  the  most  indifferent 
spectator,  and  to  compel  a  sense  of  the  solemn-picturesque  even  in 
the  mind  of  the  habitually  frivolous  and  unthinking. 

With  the  repeated  signals  which  they  had  heard  from  their  sen 
tries  on  the  appearance  of  the  new  comers,  the  scattered  groups  had 
simultaneously  started  to  their  feet,  and  put  themselves  in  a  state  of 
readiness.  The  signals  were  familiar,  however,  and  spoke  of  friends 
in  the  approaching  persons ;  so  that,  after  a  few  moments  of  buzz 
and  activity,  they  generally  sank  back  sluggishly  to  tbeir  old  occu 
pations, — the  card-players  to  finish  their  game,  and  the  kss  specu 
lative,  their  sleep.  Their  movement,  however,  gives  ur  a  better 
opportunity  to  survey  their  accoutrements.  The  long,  <.vai:brous 
riile  seemed  the  favourite  weapon,  and  in  the  hands  of  the  diminu 
tive,  sallow,  but  black-eyed  and  venturous  dweller  in  the  svar.ip 
of  the  lowlands,  across  whose  knee  we  may  here  and  there  see  it 
resting,  it  may  confidently  be  held  as  fatal  at  a  hundred  yards.  A 
few  of  them  had  pistols — the  common  horse-pistol — a  weapou  of 
little  real  utility  under  any  circumstances.  But  a  solitary 


HOPT   FJREPAKED   FOR   WAK.  75 

and  that,  too,  without  the  bayonet,  was  to  bo  seen  in  the  whole  col 
lection  ;  and  though  not  one  of  the  party  present  but  had  his  horse 
hidden  in  the  swamp  around  him,  yet  not  one  in  five  of  the  riders 
possessed  the  sabre,  that  most  effective  weapon  of  cavalry.  These 
were  yet  to  be  provided,  and  at  the  expense  of  the  enemy. 

The  immediate  appearance  of  Major  Singleton,  as  he  followed 
Humphries  up  the  bank,  once  more  called  them  to  their  feet,  lie 
had  been  expected,  yet  few  of  them  personally  knew  him.  They 
knew,  however,  that  he  was  high  in  favour  with  Governor  Rut- 
ledge,  and  bore  his  commission.  Of  this  they  had  been  apprised 
by  Humphries,  who  had  been  the  recruiting  officer  of  the  troop. 
They  now  crowded  around  him  with  a  show  of  curious  examina 
tion,  which  was  narrow  and  close  without  being  obtrusive. 

With  that  manly,  yet  complaisant  habit  which  distinguished 
him,  he  soon  made  himself  known  to  them,  and  his  opening  speech 
won  not  a  little  upon  their  hearts,  lie  unfolded  his  commission, 
delivered  an  address  from  the  executive,  in  which  a  direct  and 
warm  appeal  was  made  to  their  patriotism,  and  concluded  with 
some  remarks  of  his  own  to  the  same  effeet,  which  were  all  enthu 
siastically  received.  His  frank,  fearless  manner,  fine  eye,  and 
manly,  though  smooth  and  youthful  face,  took  admirably  with 
them,  and  at  once  spoke  favourably  to  their  minds  in  support  of 
his  pretensions  to  govern  them.  This  command  they  at  once  ten 
dered  him  ;  and  though  without  the  material  for  a  force  called  for 

O 

by  the  commission  which  he  bore,  yet,  in  those  times,  it  was  enough 
that  they  loved  their  leader  and  were  not  im willing  to  fight  with 
an  enemy.  Major  Singleton  was  content  to  serve  his  country  in 
an  humbler  command  than  that  which,  his  commission  entitled 
him  to  hold.  Acting,  therefore,  as  their  captain  for  the  present 
he  made  Humphries  his  lieutenant,  lliui  they  had  long  known, 
and  he  was  a  favourite  among  them,  lie,  indeed,  had  been  chiefly 
instrumental  in  bringing  together  their  scattered  elements,  and  in 
thus  forming  the  nucleus  of  a  corps,  which,  in  the  subsequent  war 
fare,  contributed  in  no  slight  degree  to  the  release  of  the  country 
from  foreign  thraldom.  Tn  Humphries  they  had  a  good  officer 
and  every  confidence,  though  it  was  obvious  enough,  that,  while 
fall  of  courage,  calm,  collected,  an<;  not  easily  moved,  he  y*t  laekod 


76  THE    PARTISAN. 

many  of  those  essentials  of  superior  education  and  bearing,  with 
out  which  militia-men  are  not  often  to  be  held  in  order.  Lie  was 
not  sufficiently  their  superior  to  stand  apart  and  to  command 
them ;  and  the  inferior  mind  will  never  look  to  its  equal  in  Lhe 
moment  of  emergency.  Though  ready  and  acute  enough  in  the 
smaller  details  of  military  adventure — the  arrangement  of  the 
ambuscade,  the  rapid  blow  at  the  rear,  or  the  plan  for  striking  at 
the  foragers  of  an  enemy — he  was  yet  rather  apt  to  go  forward 
with,  than  to  command,  his  party.  He  trusted  rather  to  his  pre 
sence  than  to  the  superior  force  of  his  character,  to  urge  upon 
them  the  performance  of  their  duties;  and,  conscious  of  this, 
though  ready  at  all  times  to  lead,  he  yet  shrank  from  the  necessity 
of  commanding.  This  capacity  can  only  result  successfully  from 
an  habitual  exercise  of  authority.  It  was  with  no  small  satisfac 
tion,  therefore,  that  he  placed  his  recruits  under  the  control  of 
Major  Singleton,  although,  it  may  be  said,  that  such  a  transfer  of 
his  command  was  rather  nominal  than  real ;  Humphries  still  coun 
selling,  in  great  part,  the  particular  business  of  adventure  which 
Singleton  was  the  better  able  to  direct.  The  latter  had  yet  to 
acquire  a  knowledge  of  localities  and  men,  which  could  only  be 
obtained  by  actual  experience. 

"  And  now,  major,  soldiers  without  arms  are  not  apt  to  fight 
well.  Come,  sir,  with  me,  and  see  our  armory.  It's  a  queer  one, 
to  be  sure,  to  those  used  to  a  better ;  but  it  must  serve  where 
there's  no  choice.  This  way,  sir — to  the  left.  Here,  Tom,  bring 
a  chunk." 

The  black  led  the  way  with  a  blazing  brand,  until  thoir  farther 
progress  was  arrested  by  the  waters  of  the  creek.  In  the  centre 
of  the  stream  grew  a  cypress  of  immense  size,  much  larger  than 
any  of  its  surrounding  companions.  Motioning  Singleton  to  wait, 
Humphries  waded  into  the  water  almost  up  to  his  middle,  until  he 
reached  the  tree,  into  which,  taking  the  blazing  brand  from  the 
black,  he  entered,  returning  in  a  few  moments  with  half  a  dozen 
fine  sabres,  which,  one  after  the  other,  he  threw  from  him  to  the 
bank. 

"  This  is  all  our  stock  in  trade,  major ;  and  you  have  your 
oiioice  of  them  till  we  can  get  a  better.  This,  if  i  kuow  the 


TWO    FlllES.  77 

of  the  weather,  wo  shall  do  before  long.  Meanwhile,  as  the  stuff's 
good,  they  will  answer  our  present  purpose." 

Singleton  pressed  the  points  of  the  weapons  severally  to  the 
earth,  testing  the  elasticity  of  the  steel,  then  accommodating  tho 
hilt  to  his  grip,  declared  himself  suited.  Humphries  made  a  .selec 
tion  after  him,  and  the  remaining  four  were  subsequently  distri 
buted  among  chosen  men,  to  whom  commands  in  the  little  wps 
•were  assigned.  As  rebels,  heretofore,  the  short-shrift  and  s'.ir« 
cord  must  have  been  their  doom,  if  taken.  The  commission  of 
the  state,  and  a  due  register  of  their  names  in  the  books  of  the 
orderly,  now  secured  them  in  the  immunities  of  regular  warfare, 
and  made  that  comparatively  innocent  which  before  was  obnox 
ious  to  doom  and  degradation. 

We  have  spoken  of  two  several  fires  as  conspicuous  upon  the 
inland  at  the  approach  of  Singleton,  the  one  upon  the  centre,  the 
other,  and  smaller  one,  at  its  remotest  extremity.  Of  the  use  made 
of  the  former,  we  have  already  seen  something;  the  other,  while 
it  had  caught  the  eye  of  Major  Singleton,  had  been  too  remote  to 
enable  him  to  distinguish  the  employment  or  character  of  the 
various  persons  who  yet  closely  encircled  it.  lie  could  see  that 
there  were  several  figures  sitting  around  the  brands,  which  seemed 
to  have  been  but  loosely  thrown  together,  as  they  had  now  fallen 
apart,  and  only  g:ive  forth  a  flickering  blaze  at  intervals,  denying 
that  constant  light,  without  which  he  could  not  hope  to  gain  any 
knowledge  of  the  persons,  even  at  a  far  less  distance.  These  per 
sons  had  not  moved  at  his  approach,  and  had  remained  station  a  i  v 
all  the  while  he  was  employed  in  making  himself  kno'vu  to  th'^e 
who  were  to  be  his  comrades.  This  alone  would  have  been  enoi"h 

O 

to  attract  his  attention  ;  and,  in  addition,  he  saw  that  those  arovnd 
him,  when  bending  their  glances  off  in  the  direction  of  his  awn, 
shook  their  heads  with  an  air  of  solemnity,  and,  though  oayi'^i', 
nothing,  were  yet  evidently  influenced  by  u  knowli-diro  o('  gome 
circumstances  connected  with  the  rny;-.f,erions  gioup.  ;./  H  ]>;iin!'i(l 
character.  Observing  the  inquiring  louk  of  M;ij"i-  ;;«iiig!etoij, 
Humphries  approached,  and  whispe -ed  .'.in  L'rit  thy  party  at  the 
opposite  fire  consisted  of  Frampton  'jis  i,w<  sots,  and  the  dead 


70  .      THE    PARTISAN. 

body  of  his  wife,  and  proposed  that  they  should  go  to  him.  The 
major  at  once  consented. 

"  You'll  see  a  sad  sight,  Major  Singleton — a  sad  sight ! — for  the 
man  is  crazy,  let  them  say  what  they  may.  He  don't  know  half 
the  time  what  he  says  or  does,  and  he  scarcely  feels  anything" 

They  moved  over  in  the  prescribed  direction,  and  approached 
without  disturbing  the  chief  personage  of  the  group.  The  elder 
son,  a  youth  of  twenty,  looked  up  at  their  coming,  but  said  nothing. 
It  was  evident  that  he,  and  he  alone,  had  been  weeping.  Tha 
other  son,  a  tall  fine-looking  lad  of  sixteen,  seemed  inspired  with 
harsher  feelings  as  his  eye  gazed  from  the  face  of  the  father  to  that 
of  the  mother,  whose  dead  body  lay  between  the  two,  her  head  on 
the  lap  of  the  elder  son,  over  whose  arms  her  hair  streamed  loosely 
— long,  and  delicately  brown  and  glossy.  She  had  evidently  been 
a  woman  of  some  attractions.  Her  person  was  well  formed  and 
justly  proportioned,  neither  masculine  nor  small.  Her  features 
were  soft  and  regular.  The  face  was  smooth,  but  had  been  bruised, 
seemingly  as  if  she  had  fallen  upon  it ;  and  there  were  blotches 
upon  the  cheek  and  forehead,  which  may  have  been  the  conse 
quence  of  blows,  or  might  be  the  natural  evidence  of  that  decay 
which  was  now  strongly  perceptible  The  face  of  the  chief  mourner, 
who  sat  silent  at  her  feet,  looking  forward  into  her  face,  was  a  fine 
one,  as  well  in  its  mould  as  in  its  expression.  It  was  that  of  a 
splendid  savage.  There  was  enough  of  solemn  ferocity  in  it  for  the 
raurderer,  enough  of  redeeming  sensibility  to  soften,  if  not  to  sub- 
i'la,  the  other  more  leading  attributes  of  its  character.  His  skin 
was  dark  like  that  of  the  people  generally  of  that  neighbourhood 
L.v  eyes  were  black  and  piercing;  and  a  burning  spot  on  each 
ch&oV  seemed  to  have  borrowed  from  the  red  glare  of  the  fire  at 
his  side  a  corresponding  intensity  of  hue.  His  lips  were  parted ; 
and  the  lower  jaw  seemed  to  have  been  thrown  and  kept  down 
spasmodically.  Through  the  aperture  glared  the  tips  of  the  small 
and  white  teeth,  sometimes  closed  together  by  a  sudden  convulsive 
jerk,  buu  Immediately  relaxing  again  and  resuming  their  divided 
position. 

He  took  no  sort  of  actioe  of  the  new-comers,  until,  throwing 


.  79 

Liraaelf  alongside  of  the  younger  boy,  Il'.imphrios  took  the  hand 
of  the  mother  into  his  own,  and  ga/ed  over  upon  her  face.  Framp- 
ton  then  gave  him  a  look — a  single  look  ;  and  as  their  eyes  met, 
those  of  Humphries  intuitively  filled  with  water.  The  bereaved 
wiTtch,  as  he  saw  diis,  laughed  sneeringly  and  shook  his  head. 
There,  was  no  misunderstanding  the  rebuke.  It  clearly  scorned  the 
sympathy,  and  called  for  the  sterner  tribute  of  revenge.  The  elder 
son  then  carried  on  a  brief  conversation  in  an  under  tone  with  the 
lieutenant,  which  was  only  audible  in  part  to  Singleton,  who  sat  on 
the  root  of  a  tree  opposite.  He  gave  the  particulars  of  his  mo 
ther's  removal  in  this  dialogue,  and  of  the  resolute  doggedness  with 
which  his  father  had  hitherto  resisted  the  burial  of  the  body. 

"  It  must  be  buried  at  once,"  said  Humph  lies  more  earnestly  to 
the  youth.  The  father  heard  him,  and  glaring  upon  him  with  the 
eye  of  a  tiger,  the  desolate  man  bent  forward  and  placed  his  hand 
res'  lutely  upon  the  body,  as  if  determined  not  to  suffer  its  re 
moval. 

"Nay,  but  it  must,  Frauipton  ; — there's  no  use  in  keeping  it 
here :  and,  indeed,  there's  no  keeping  it  much  longer.  Hear  to 
reason,  man,  and  be  persuaded." 

The  person  addressed  shook  his  head,  and  maintained  his  hold 
upon  the  corse  for  a  moment  in  silence;  but  all  on  a  sudden,  half 
rising  to  his  feet,  lie  shook  his  fists  fiercely  at  the  speaker,  while 
his  expression  was  so  full  of  ferocity,  that  Humphries  prepared  for, 
and  every  moment  expected,  an  attack. 

"  You  have  lied  to  me,  Humphries !"  he  exclaimed  with  diffi 
culty,  as  if  through  his  clenched  teeth. — "  You  have  lied  to  me ; — 
you  said  he  should  be  here, — where  is  he  ?  why  have  you  not 
brought  him  ?" 

"  Who  ?  brought  who  ?"  demanded  the  other  earnestly. 

"  Who  !"—  ard  as  the  maniac  half  shrieked  out  the  word  in 
sneering  repetition,  he  pointed  to  the  body,  while  he  cried,  with  a 
fierce  laugh,  between  each  pause  in  his  words — "  who  ! — did  he 
not  strike  her — strike  her  to  the  ground — trample  upon  her  body 
— great  God! — upon  her — my  wife?"  And,  as  the  accumulated 
picture  of  his  wife's  injuries  rose  up  before  his  mind  while  he 
spoke,  his  speecli  left  him,  and  he  choked,  till  his  face  grew  livid 


SU  THE    PARTISAN. 

in  their  sight,  and  yet  he  had  no  tears.     He  soon  vecovere.'  *'.&.• 
ciently  to  speak  again  with  something  like  a  shfv  G':"  oalrrnese. 

"You  said  you  were  my  friend — that  y<:-i  would  Vring  him  to 
me — that  I  should  kill  him  here — ht.ro.  -iye.1  .  t.'.ile  iuine  uyes  yet 
looked  upon  her.  Liar!  where  is  he?  Why  h^re  you  no1;  brought 
him  ?" 

"I  am  no  liar,  Frampton,  and  you  kno\\  it.  I  never  promised 
to  bring  the  dragoons  to  you;  but  I  am  willing  to  le?, '  ~ou  12 
them." 

"  Do  I  want  a  leader  for  tLa!  ? — you  shall  see :"  and  he  relapsed. 
after  this  reply,  into  the  same  solemn  stupor  which  h;.vd  r-arked  his 
looks  at  the  first  coming  of  the  two.  Humphries  proceeded  with 
temper  and  coolness — 

'•  It  is  time,  Frampton,  to  be  a  man — to  bear  up  against  you; 
losses,  and  think  how  to  have  revenge  for  them." 

"  1  am  ready.  Speak  not  to  nio  of  revenge — speak  not ;  I  am 
thirsting — thirsting  for  blood  !"  was  the  '/cply. 

"  Yet,  here  you  sit  moping  over  your  losses,  while  the  red-coats 
are  in  the  tjvjxmp — ay,  hunting  us  out  in  our  own  grounds — Buck's 
dragoons,  with  Travis  at  their  head." 

The  man  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant.     There  was  a  wild  glow 
now  visible  in  his  face,  which  completely  superseded  the  sombre 
fixedness  of  its  previous  expression.     All  now  was  summary  im 
patience. 

"  Come  !"  said  he,  waving  his  hand  impatiently,  and  convulsively 
grasping  his  bosom  with  his  fingers — "come!" 

"  It  is  well.  I  now  see  you  are  in  the  right  mood  for  vengeance, 
and  I  have  made  all  arrangements  for  it.  Ilere  is  a  sword  ;  and 
this,  Frampton,  is  our  commander,  Major  Singleton.  He  is  now 
our  leader,  arid  will  put,  iis  on  the  dragoons1  tracks  in  short  order.'* 

The  maniac  turned  stupidly  to  Singleton,  and  bending  his  head 
with  a  strange  simper  on  his  lips,  simply  repeated  the  word 
!<  Come !"  with  which  he  showed  his  willingness  for  the  adventure. 
Humphries  whispered  Major  Singleton  to  take  him  at  his  word, 
and  move  him  off  to  the  rest  of  the  party,  while  he  gave  directions 
for  the  interment  oi'  the  body.  Singleton  did  so,  and  without  any 
sshow  of  reluctance,  Fnuiipton  tblKnwd  hiiu.  Ouce  did  Ufc  atop 


ON   TU.&    WATCII.  31 

f-- 

suddenly,  turn  quickly  round,  and  seem  about  to  retrace  his  steps; 
but  seeing  it,  Singleton  simply  observed,  as  if  to  himself — 

"  We  shall  soon  be  upon  the  dragoons,  and  then — " 

The  object  was  gained,  and  the  distracted,  desolate  creature  fol 
lowed,  like  a  tame  dog,  the  lead  of  his  commander.  He  listened 
in  gloomy  silence  to  the  arrangements,  as  they  were  agreed  upo», 
for  the  encounter  witli  Travis.  He  knew  enough  of  that  sort  of 
fighting  to  see  that  they  were  judiciously  made ;  but  for  this  he 
did  not  care.  All  plans  are  necessarily  slow  and  tedious  to  the 
mood  that  craves  for  vengeance  ;  and  Frampton,  satisfied  with  the 
promise  which  they  conveyed  to  his  mind  of  the  revenge  which 
he  desired,  offered  no  suggestion,  nor  interfered  in  the  slightest 
degree  with  any  of  their  plans.  Still,  not  a  word  which  had  been 
uttered  among  them  escaped  his  appreciation.  He  was  now  fully 
awakened  to  a  single  object,  and  the  reasoning  faculties  grew  tri 
butary  to  the  desire  of  hi«  mood  when  that  became  concentrated. 
He  saw  that  the  proposed  operations  were  the  best  that  could  be 
devised  for  the  encounter,  and  he  looked  to  that  now  for  the  full 
satisfaction  of  his  thirst. 

Humphries  having  given  his  directions  duly  for  the  interment 
of  the  body,  now  returned  to  join  in  the  deliberations  with  the  rest. 
His  opinion  was  adopted  by  Major  Singleton,  who,  giving  orders 
that  all  things  should  be  in  readiness,  himself  saw  to  the  execution 
of  certain  minor  resolves;  then,  dispersing  his  sentries,  he  proceeded, 
with  the  coolness  of  an  old  soldier,  to  enjoy  the  three  hours  of 
slumber  which  had  been  allotted  before  the  necessary  start  to 
interest  Travis. 

It  was  an  hov.:  after  midnight  when  the  guards  aroused  them 
with.  tLa  preparations  for  their  movement.  The  night  was  still, 
clear,  and  calm.  The  winds  were  sleeping,  or  only  strove  with  a 
drowsy  movement  along  the  tops  of  the  trees,  the  highest  above 
the  swamp.  Sweetly  the  murmurs  of  the  creek  around  them,  swol 
len  by  the  influx  of  the  tide  from  the  sea,  whiclris  there  quite  per 
ceptible,  broke  upon  the  ear,  as  the  waters,  in  feeble  ripples,  strove 
again  3t  the  little  island,  and  brought  with  them  a  sense  of  freshness 
the  deep,  which  none  feels  more  pleasantly  than  he  who  hat 
loag  wandering  iu  the  southern  forests.  Nut  a  lip  had  yet 


82  THIS    PARTISAN. 

spoken  among  the  troops,  and,  save  the  slight  cry  of  the  capricious 
insect,  and  the  sound  produced  by  their  own  early  movement  in 
bustling  into  action,  there  was  nothing  in  that  deep  stillness  and 
depth  of  shadow  calculated  in  the  slightest  degree  to  impair  the 
feelings  of  solemnity  which,  in  his  own  abode,  Silence,  the  most  im 
pressive  of  all  the  forest  divinities,  exacts  from  his  subjects.  With 
a  ready  alacrity,  obeying  the  command  of  their  leader,  the  troopers 
were  soon  in  saddle,  forming  a  compact  body  of  tAventy  men, 
Frampton  and  his  two  sons  included;  the  very  boys  being  thus 
early  taught  in  the  duties  of  the  partisan.  Following  in  such  order 
as  the  inequalities  of  the  swamp  would  permit,  they  were  soon  ad 
vanced  upon  their  route  through  bog  and  through  brier,  slough, 
forest,  and  running  water — a  route,  rugged  and  circuitous,  and  not 
always  without  its  peril.  In  three  hours,  and  ere  the  daylight  yet 
dappled  the  dun  east,  they  skirted  the  narrow  ridge  where  the 
arrangement  of  Singleton  placed  them,  and  over  which  the  scout 
ing  party  of  Travis  was  expected  to  pass.  There,  with  hostile 
anxiety,  and  well  prepared,  they  confidently  awaited  the  arrival  of 
the  enemy. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

"  There  shall  be  joy  for  this      Shall  we  not  l«ngh — 
Laujh  merrily  for  conquest,  when  it  takei 
The  woltd.iij  from  our  throats,  nn<i  yield*  nx  hi»." 

TRAVIS,  the  faithful  coadjutor  of  the  tory  Huck,  was  on  his  inarch 
into  the  swamp  before  daylight.  As  Humphries  had  anticipated,  he 
took  the  path,  if  so  it  might  be  called,  on  which  the  ambuscade  had 
been  laid  for  him.  He  might  not  have  done  so,  had  he  dreamed 
for  an  instant  of  the  existence  in  this  quarter  of  such  a  body  of  men 
as  that  now  preparing  to  receive  him.  Looking  on  his  object,  Low- 
ever,  simply  as  the  arrest  of  Frampton,  and  the  scouring  of  the 
swamp  of  such  stragglers  besides  as  might  have  been  led  for  shelter 
into  its  recesses,  he  adopted  the  route  which  was  obviously  most 
accessible,  and  most  likely,  therefore,  to  be  resorted  to  by  the  merely 
skulking  discontent.  The  half-military  eye,  looking  out  for  an 
enemy  in  any  respect  equal  in  strength,  would  have  either •  studiously 
avoided  the  ridge  over  which  Travis  now  presumed  to  ride,  or  would 
have  adopted  some  better  precautions  than  he  had  troubled  himself 
to  take.  It  was  naturally  a  strong  defile,  well  calculated  for  an  easy- 
defence,  as  only  a  small  force  could  possibly  be  of  u^e  upon  it.  But 
two  persons  could  ride  abreast  in  the  prescribed  direction,  and  then 
only  with  great  difficulty  and  by  slow  movement ;  for  little  gullies  and 
fissures  continually  intersected  the  path,  which  was  circuitous  and 
winding,  and,  if  not  always  covered  with  water  and  swamp,  quite 
as  difficult  to  overcome,  from  its  luxuriant  growth  of  umbrage. 

Though  an  old  traveller  in  such  fastnesses,  these  obstructions  wore 
in  no  sort  pleasant  to  the  leader  of  the  British  party,  who,  being  a 
notorious  grumbler,  accompanied  every  step  which  he  took  with  n 
grunting  sort  of  commentary  by  way  of  disapprobation. 

''  Now,  may  the  devil  take  these  gullies,  that  go  as  deep  whet, 
you  get  into  them  as  if  they  were  made  for  him.  This  is  a  I!HT'« 


84  THE   PARTISAN. 

chase,  and  the  next  time  Huck  wants  a  huut,  he  shall  enjoy  it  him 
self.  I  like  not  this  service.  It's  little  less  than  a  disparagement  of 
the  profession,  and  speaks  not  well  for  an  old  soldier." 

The  leader  spoke  with  feeling,  and  no  little  emphasis,  as  his  steed 
scrambled  up  the  bank  from  the  slough  in  which  his  legs  had  been 
almost  fastened,  the  slimy  ooze  of  which,  left  by  the  now-receding 
tide,  rendered  thu  effort  to  release  himself  a  matter  of  greater  diffi 
culty  than  usual.  The  grumbling  continued,  even  after  he  had 
gained  the  tussock. 

"  Thou  a  soldier  ! "  cried  one  who  rodo  up  behind  him,  and  who 
spoke  in  terms  of  familiarity  indicating  close  companionship — "thou 
a  soldier,  Travis,  indeed !  What  should  make  thee  a  soldier  f " 

"  Am  I  not,  Clough  ? "  was  the  reply. 

"  And  wherefore  dost  thou  grumble,  then  ?  " 

"  Wherefore  ?  Because,  being  a  soldier,  I  am  sent  upon  any  but 
a  soldier's  service.  A  dog  might  do  this  duty — a  dog  that  you  had 
well  beaten." 

"  And  what  better  service,  Travis,  couldst  thou  have  to  keep  thee 
from  grumbling  ?  Art  tLou,  now,  not  a  sorry  bear  with  a  sore 
head,  that  kindness  annot  coax,  and  crossing  only  can  keep  civil ! 
Send  thee  on  what  service  Huck  may,  it  is  all  the  same ;  thou  wilt 
grumble  at  the  toil,  even  when  it  likes  thee  best.  What  wouldst 
thou  have — what  would  please  thee  ? " 

"  By  Saint  Jupiter,  but  he  might  ask,  at  least !  He  might  give  a 
man  his  choice,"  responded  the  other,  gruffly.  "  It's  but  a  small 
favour  I  ask,  to  be  suffered  to  choose  for  myself  whether  I  shall  work 
for  my  master  on  hill  or  in  hole — with  a  free  bit,  or  hand  to  hand, 
close  struggle  with  a  hungry  alligator  in  his  wallow." 

"  And  thou  wouldst  choose  the  very  service  he  now  puts  thee  to. 
What!  do  we  not  all  know  thee — and  who  knows  thee  better  than 
Huck  ?  He  sees  thou  art  the  best  man  for  the  swamp ;  that  thy 
scent  is  keen  with  the  bloodhound,  thine  eye  like  the  hawk's,  and 
thou  art  quick  for  fight  as  the  major's  bull-pup.  It  is  because  he 
knows  thou  art  fond  of  this  sort  of  venture  thait  he  puts  thee  upon 
it ;  and  what  thou  grumblest  at,  therefore,  it  will  be  out  of  thine 
own  wisdom  to  show,  even  if  thou  wert  really  discontented  with 
the  duty,  which  I  believe  not.'1 


GRUMBLERS.  86 

u  ItV  a  dog's  life  only,  this  scenting  swamps  for  the  carrion  they 
Lad  better  keep — wearing  out  good  legs  and  horses,  and  making 
soldiers  do  the  duty  of  a  hungry  dog.  Rot  it,  but  I'll  resist  after 
this !  Let  them  send  others  that  are  younger,  and  like  it  bettor. 
I'll  give  it  up— I'll  do  no  more  of  it." 

'•  Say  so  to  Uuck,  and  lose  command  of  the  scouts — the  best 
game  thou  hast  ever  played  at,  if  the  baggage- wagons  speak  true," 
was  the  reply.  "  What !  shalt  thou  grumble  to  do  what  thou  art 
best  fitted  for  ?  What  wouklst  thou  be  after — what  other  service 
would  please  thee  ? " 

"Thou  mayst  see  me  in  a  charge  yet,  Sergeant  Clough,"  replied 
Travis,  boastfully,  "  provided  thou  hast  blood  enough  to  stop  until 
it's  over.  When  thou  hast  seen  this,  thou  wilt  ask  me  no  child's 
questions.  What!  because  !  am  good  at  the  swamp,  am  I  there 
fore  worth  nothing  on  the  highway  ?  It  were  a  sorry  soldier  that 
could  not  take  clear  track  and  bush  and  bog  alike,  when  the  case 
calls  for  it,  and  do  good  service  in  all.  But  thou  shalt  see,  some 
day,  and  grow  wiser." 

"  Well,  thou  dost  promise  largely,  like  an  old  debtor;  but,  to  my 
mind,  thou  art  just  now  where  thou  shouldst  be — in  the  swamps  ; 
for,  truth 'to  speak,  thou  lovest  them — thou  lovest  the  wallow  and 
the  slough — the  thick  ooze  which  the  alligator  loves,  and  the  dry 
fern-bank  where  he  makes  his  nest;  thou  lovest  the  terrapin 
because  of  his  home,  not  less  than  of  the  good  soup  which  he 
gives  us ;  and  the  ugly  moccasin,  and  the  toad,  and  the  frog — the 
brown  lizard  and  the  green— the  swamp-spider,  with  its  ropy 
house  and  bagging  black  body — all  these  are  favourites  with  thee, 
because  thy  spirit  craves  for  thee  a  home  like  that  which  they 
abide  in." 

"  ft  is  a  goodly  place,  with  all  that  company  thou  speakest  of; 
the  air  is  pleasant  to  the  sense,  and  the  noises — there  is  no  music 
like  the  concert  the  frogs  make  for  one  at  sunset." 

"  Said  1  not  ?  Why,  man,  thou  quarrellest  with  kindness,  when 
thou  ravcst  at  Iluck  for  sending  thee  to  the  swamp.  Thou  wert 
feverish  and  impatient  this  morning  until  thou  wert  fairly  in  it,  with 
it*  mud  anil  water  plashing  around  thee;  and  now  thou  art  here, 
with  the  trees  crow  ling  upou  us  so  thickly  that  the  suu  iooka  not 
4* 


86  THE   PARTISAN. 

under  them  ouce  in  the  whole  year,  tliou  creepest  like  a  terrapin 
upon  thy  journey,  as  if  thou  didst  greatly  fear  thou  wouldst  too 
quickly  get  through  it.  A  barren  fear,  this,  for  we  see  but  the 
beginning :  the  bog  deepens,  and  the  day  grows  darker  as  we  go. 
Thou  art  slow,  Travis." 

"  Saint  Jupiter,  Master  Clough,  wouldst  thou  lead  ?  Thou  art  a 
better  swamp-sucker  than  Ned  Travis,  and  he  born,  as  I  may  say,  in 
a  bush  and  cradled  in  a  bog,  and  his  first  breeches,  like  mother  Eve's 
petticoat,  made  out  of  bulrushes  !  Go  to,  friend,  and  be  modest !" 

"  Ay,  when  thou  art  wise,  and  can  go  without  counsel.  On  xj 
more,  Travis,  but  I  do  think  thy  snail's  pace  were  better  mended." 

"  Teach  Goose  Creek,  would  you  ?  Talk  not  so  loudly,  Sergeant 
Clough,  of  running  through  the  Cypress,  or  the  gray-squirrel  will 
look  down  and  laugh,  lie's  up  betimes  this  morning,  and  knows 
more  of  a  long  leap  through  a  broad  swamp  like  this  of  the  Ashley 
than  comes  to  thy  .wisdom.  Speak  before  him  with  becoming  reve 
rence,  for  he  watches  thee  from  the  pinetop  above  thee." 

The  sergeant,  who  \vas  an  Englishman,  looked  upward  with  due 
simplicity,  and  received  in  his  face  the  dismembered  and  decayed 
branch  which  the  playful  animal  threw  down,  as  he  leaped  away 
from  the  tree  they  were  passing. 

"  Now,  d — n  the  rebel !  That  were  a  hanging  matter  for  one  of 
Washington's  cavalry." 

"  Ay,  could  you  catch  him  !"  replied  Travis,  with  a  laugh  at  the 
discomfiture  of  his  companion,  who  busied  himself  in  freeing  his 
face  from  the  dust  of  the  decayed  branch. 

"  See  what  thou  gettest  for  thy  stupidity.  Think  you  gray-jacket 
knew  not  all  you  were  saying  ?  He  did :  not  a  word  escaped  Mtn  ; 
and,  believe  it  or  not,  his  tribe  have  quite  as  much  understanding  as 
we,  though,  to  be  sure,  they  have  not  the  same  tongue  to  nifke  it 
known.  It's  a  God's  truth,  nou,  that  squirrel  has  been  outstanding 
sentinel  for  his  company,  just  as  ours  watches  for  us ;  and  look 
where  they  go,  all  around  us,  nnd  all  in  the  same  direction  !  See 
to  yon  pine,  how  full  of  them  !  It  bonds  and  shakes,  big  as  it  is, 
as  they  leap  off  to  the  next  tree.  They  are  all  off,  just  as  the  senti 
nel  gave  them  notice.  Every  now  and  then,  as  we  drew  nigh,  ho 
barked  away — bark  after  bark — '  bow-wow,'  though  thou  nevei 


SCOUTING   SQUIRRELS.  87 

heard'st  a  syllable,  nil  the  time  as  good  as  K;iyiiig:  '  Now  they 
come — nigher,  nigher,  nigher !' — and  when  he  thought,  it  time  to 
move,  he  tumbled  the  dry  branch  into  your  open  mouth,  and  made 
off  with  his  last  signals/' 

"  I'&haw  !  what  nonsense  you  talk  !" 

"Nonsense!  Saint  Jupiter,  but  it's  true  ;ls  turpentine!  There's 
no  truth,  if  that  be  not.  Why,  man,  I  go  farther :  1  do  believe,  iu 
my  conscience,  that  they  understand  arithmetic  and  navigation. 
Don't  you  think  he  told  his  fellows  how  many  we  were,  and  what 
route  over  the  water  we  were  going  to  take  ?  You  see  they 
have,  taken  a  different  direction  altogether." 

"You  think  I  swallow  your  fool's  stories?"  said  Clough. 

"  Quite  as  easy  to  swallow,  and  better  food  than  the  branch  the 
squirrel  threw  thee :  but  if  thou  believe  not,  I  cave  not. — Hot  thee, 
for  an  infidel,  having  as  little  belief  as  brains  !  Thou  art  worse 
than  Turk  or  Hebrew,  and  should  have  no  water  from  me  wcrt  thou 
famishing." 

"  Thou  canst  scarce  deny  it  here,"  was  the  reply,  as  the  squad, 
one  after  the  other,  struggled  through  a  quagmire  that  spread  across 
the  path. 

"  Nor  would  I  here ;  I  am  charitable :  take  thy  fill  of  what  is 
before  thee. — But  hold  up,  men  ;  we  are  on  the  broad  track.  This 
tussock  runs  for  a  hundred  yards,  widening  to  a  fork  ;  and  I've  a 
mind  that  you  .  shall  go  through  the  worst  part  of  it,  Sergeant 
Clough,  that  you  may  get  more  wisdom  in  swamp-sucking.  Close 
up,  men — close  up !" 

They  passed  over  the  broad  path  in  a  few  moments,  until  they 
reached  a  point  from  which  ran  out  another  route,  clearly  indicated 
upon  the  sky  by  an  opening  through  the  trees,  which  let  in,*for  the 
first  time  after  their  entrance,  the  unobstructed  sunlight. 

O 

"To  the  right  now,  men — to  the  right !  It's  the  worst  track,  but 
carries  us  soonest  to  the  heart  of  the  swamp,  and  we  can  pass  it 
now  without  swimming  :  the  waters  are  going  down,  and  it  will  not 
be  so  bad,  after  all." 

"  Is  it  worse,  Travis,  than  what  we  have  passed  ?"  inquired  Clough, 
rather  anxiously. 

"  Worse !"  exclaimed  Travis,  turning  shortly  upon  the  speaker, 


88  THE    PAKTISAX. 

with  a  sneer;  "Saint  Jupiter!  said  I  not  you  should  learn  swamp- 
sucking  ?  You'll  drink  before  you  come  out.  But  the  water's  fresh." 

"Fresh,  here  in  the  swamp  ?" 

"Ay,  fresh  enuiigh — fresh  from  tin;  sea,  unless  the  tide's  gone 
clean  down.  But  on  ;  do  not  fear  ;  it  looks  worse  than  it.  tastes. 
On,  and  follow  me  close  !" 

They  dashed  after  their  leader  as  he  gave  the  word,  but  their 
progress  was  much  slower  than  before. 

lu  the  mean  while,  let  us  turn  our  eyes  upon  the  party  in  wait 
ing  for  them.  Following  the  suggestions  of  his  lieutenant,  Hum 
phries,  Major  Singleton  had  disposed  of  his  men  at  convenient 
distances  for  mutual  support  along  the  more  accessible  ridge  which 
the  party  of  Travis  had  originally  pursued.  The  design  had  been 
a  good  oi.e ;  lor  it  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  one  who  had  shown 
himself  so  c&ref.t  in  selecting  the  least  obstructed  route,  would 
willingly  letv\e  it,  in  preference  for  another,  so  indirect  and  difficult 
of  passage  as  that  upon  which  Travis  had  now  turned  his  horse. 
The  ambuscade  had  been  well  laid,  and  must  have  been  successful, 
but  for  this  circumstance.  Major  Singleton  himself,  being  in 
advance,  was  the  first  to  perceive  this  change  of  movement,  which, 
taking  place  just  when  his  anxieties  were  most  aroused,  was  pro 
ductive  of  an  exaggerated  degree  of  disappointment.  He  cried 
out  to  Humphries,  who  lurked  in  a  low  bush  on  the  opposite  bank 
and  saw  not  so  readily, — 

"They  leave  the  track,  Humphries!  they  have  turned  off  to  the 
right — we  are  foiled  !" 

The  lieutenant  n^e  fru;i  his  recumbent  -position,  and  saw  the 
truth  of  his  commander's  suggestion.  To  effect  a  change  of  ambus 
cade  at  this  moment  was  hopeless ;  and  there  remained  but  one 
mode,  and  thyt  was,  to  persuade  them  to  return  to  the  path  from 
which  they  departed.  At  first,  the  lieutenant  thought  to  throw 
himself  immediately  in  their  way ;  and,  bring  well  known,  and 
looked  upon  as  loyal  by  all  the  dragoons,  he  believed  that  he  might 
lure  them  back  by  misrepresentations  of  one  kind  or  another. 
This  thought  he  abandoned,  however,  as  he  still  desired  to  keep 
himself  from  present  detection,  which  he  could  uot  hope,  should 
imy  of  them  escape  to  tell  the  story. 


THK   CHASE.  89 

"There  is  but  one  way,  major,"  he  exclaimed,  while  sir; saving 
nis  visage  with  the  mud  around  him,  and  leaping  boldly  forth  on 
foot  upon  the;  broad  path — "  there  is  but  one  way,  sir:  keep  yout 
men  fast,  while  I  make  myself  visible  to  Travis.  I  will  run  upon 
the  bank,  and  make  them  hear  me.  They  will  follow  the  tussock, 
and,  by  the  time  1  am  in  cover,  you  will  have  them  between  you. 
The  rest  of  the  work  is  yours." 

He  waited  not  for  an  answer,  but  the  next  instant  was  seen  by 
Singleton  coursing  along  the  tussock  towards  the  route  taken  b/ 
Travis.  When  upon  the  highest  point,  and  perceptible  to  them, 
lie  broke  a  dried  stick,  with  a  sharp,  snapping  sound,  which  readied 
the  quick  ear  of  their  leader.  Travis  turned  instantly,  and  ordered 
a  halt. 

"  Hold  up,  men — hold  up  a  moment !     See  you  nothing  to  the 

left  !» 

All  eyes  were  turned  in  the  required  direction,  but  they  failed 
to  distinguish  any  object  in  particular,  other  than  belonged  to  the 
region. 

'•  Look,  Clough,  your  eyes  are  younger  than  mine — look  to  the 
left,  beyond  the  big  water-oak,  close  by  the  blasted  pine — the  very 
highest  point  of  the  tussock  we  just  left." 

"  I  see,  I  see  !"  cried  one  of  the  troopers  ;  "  it's  a  man." 

"  Now  I  have  it !  You  are  right,  Wilkins — it's  a  man — a  stout 
fellow,  and  must  be  Frampton,"  cried  Clough  ;  "  the  very  dog  we 
seek." 

"  No,  'tis  not  the  man  we  seek,''  was  the  reply  of  Travis,  who 
had  been  watching  intently.  "This  is  a  short,  stout  man,  not  of 
more  inches  than  myself;  Frampton,  though  stout,  is  tall.  But  he 
is  our  game,  be  he  who  he  may.  .  All  are  outlaws  here,  and  rebels 
for  the  rope.  Here,  Corporal  Dricks,  have  your  string  in  readi 
ness  ;  we  shall  doubtless  need  a  cast  of  your  office,  and  the  noose 
should  be  free  for  service.  Ride  close,  and  be  ready»  Ha  !  lie 
scents — he  sees  us  !  He  is  on  the  wing,  and  we  must  be  quick 
and  cautious.  After  him,  Clough,  to  the  left — right,  Wilkins  ! 
Get  upon  the  tussock,  and,  if  he  keeps  it,  you  have  him.  Ride, 
boys  !  To  the  left,  Olongh — to  th£  left !  He  <  an't  eloar  the  poud, 
ami  we  are  sure  of  him  !" 


90  THE    I'Al'.TISAN. 

Half  of  the  troops  clashed  after  the  suspicions  person,  who  rt-ft 
our  acquaintance  Humphries  ;  the  other  half,  slowly  returning,  re 
entered  the  old  trail,  and  kept  their  way  towards  the  flying  objec 
and  the  pursuit.  The  lu-utenant  found  no  difficulty  in  misleading 
his  pursuers,  having  once  drawn  them  back  to  their  original  route 
They  urged  the  chase  hotly  after  him,  but  he  knew  his  course,  an< 
was  cool  and  confident.  Doubling  continually  through  bog  an< 
through  brier — now  behind  this,  now  under  that  clump  of  fuliagi 
or  brush — -he  contrived  to  boggle  them  continually  in  perpetua 
intricacies,  each  more  difficult  than  the  other,  until  he  not  only  le< 
them  into  the  very  thick  of  the  ambuscading  party,  still  maintain 
ing  his  original  lead  upon  them,  but  he  scattered  them  so  lar  asun 
dor,  that  mutual  assistance  became  impossible. 

It  was  then  that,  gathering  himself  up  for  breath  along  the  edgi 
of  a  bank,  he  coolly  wiped  the  moisture  from  his  bro*v,  lookinj 
from  side  to  side,  as  he  heard  the  splashing  in  the  water  or  th< 
rustling  in  the  brush  of  his  bewildered  pursuers.  He,  meanwhile 
fairly  concealed  from  their  sight  by  a  thick  cluster  of  laurels  tha 
rose  out  of  the  bay  before  him,  conceiving  the  time  to  have  arrivec 
for  action,  gave  the  shrill  whistle  with  which  his  men  were  familiar 
The  pursuers  heard  it  reverberate  all  around  them  from  a  dozei 
echoes  of  the  swamp  ;  they  gave  back,  and  there  was  a  pause  ii 
the  chase,  as  if  by  common  consent.  The  sound  had  something 
supernatural  and  chilling  in  it ;  and  the  instinct  of  each,  but  J 
moment  before  so  hot  upon-  the  heels  of  the  outlaw,  was  now  t< 
regain  his  starting-place,  and  recover  his  security  with  his  breath. 

But  retreat  was  not  so  easy,  and  prudence  counselled  too  late 
They  made  the  effort,  however  ;  but  to  succeed  was  denied  them 
The  word  of  command  reached  their  ears  in  another  voice  thai 
that  of  their  own  leader,  and  in  the  next  instant  came  the  shar] 
cracking  reports  of  the  rifle — two,  three,  four. 

Travis  went  down  at  the  first  shot ;  they  beheld  hi&  fa'.!  dL- 
tinctly,  as  he  stood  upon  the  highest  point  of  the  ridge,  which  wa 
visible  for  a  hundred  yards  round.  For  a  moment  more,  th 
enemy  remained  invisible  ;  but  Major  Singleton  now  gave  hi 
orders  shrilly  and  .-colly  : — 

"  Steady,  men —  in  file,  open  order — trot  1" 


TI1K    FUGITIVE.  91 

And  then  came  the  rush  of  the  charge,  and  the  stragglers  beheld 
he  Hashing  sabres  dealing  with  the  few  troopers  who  held  the 
•road  ridge  of  the  tussock.  The  tories  fought  well  ;  but  the  sur 
•rise  was  too  sudden,  and  too  little  prepared  for,  and  they  fought, 
,t  disadvantage.  Still,  as  they  remembered  the  unsparing  cha 
acter  of  their  own  warfare,  and  were  conscious  of  innumerable 
utrages,  such  as  had  driven  Frampton  to  outlawry,  they  stood 
heir  ground  bravely  enough.  Tarrying  the  first  strokes  of  their 
ssailants,  who  had  every  advantage,  they  dashed  aside  from  the 
iath,  arid  strove  to  escape  by  plunging  in  every  direction  through 
he  swamp.  But  with  the  loss  of  the  ridge,  which  Singleton  with 
:is  few  troopers  now  traversed  in  all  directions,  they  lost  all  chance 
f  extrication.  They  floundered  from  slough  to  slough,  while,  dis 
counting  and  on  foot,  the  whigs  pursued  them.  The  cry  for  qnar- 
;r  on  all  hands  ended  the  combat,  and  the  survivors  were  drawn 
)rth  to  become  prisoners.  They  threw  down  their  arms,  gene- 
ally,  and  were  spared  ;  one  who  resisted  was  cut  down  by  Davis, 
rho  had  shown  himself  a  true  man  in  close  contest ;  and  one 
trove  to  escape  by  turning  back  upon  his  path,  and  plunging  on 
brough  the  swamp  in  an  opposite  direction  to  that  taken  by  the 
est ;  but  there  was  an  eye  upon  him,  quickened  by  hate,  and  a 
eadly  hostility  which  nothing  could  blind — a  footstep  which  he 
ould  not  evade. 

The  fugitive  was  the  sanguinary  corporal  of  Tuck — a  wretch 
rho  always  carried  the,  cord  at  his  saddle-bow  for  sudden  execu- 
ious,  and  enjoyed  nothing  so  well  as  its  employment.  His  pur- 
icr  was  the  maniac  Framptou.  That  fierce  man  had  singled  out 
ais  one  antagonist,  and  throughout  the  brief  struggle,  in  which 
e  bore  an  active  part,  had  never  once  withdrawn  his  glance  from 
im.  But  for  this,  the  wretch  might  have  escaped  ;  and  even  th'.-n, 
ad  not  guilt  or  fear  paralysed  his  energy  or  judgment,  his  chances 
light  have  been  good  ;  but  he  held  too  long  to  his  horse,  and  lost 
iat  lime,  in  trying  to  urge  him  along  the  track  he  had  taken, 
'hieh,  on  foot,  he  might  have  pursued  much  more  effectually, 
he  animal  became  entangled  in  some  water-vines,  and  before  he 
M''.'  get  him  tree,  or  even  get  from  his  back,  the  pursuer  was 
!  iii-'ni!  into  the  swamp,  with  drawn  sword  waving  overhead,  and 


92  THE   PARTISAN. 

but  a  few  paces  from  him.  Leaping  from  his  steed,  wnicii  he  left 
struggling,  the  fugitive  made  for  the  opposite  bank,  and  reached  it 
before  Frampton  had  yet  got  through  the  slough.  But  even  this 
advantage  did  not  serve  him  long.  Though  brave  enough,  the 
corporal  seemed  at  that  moment  to  lack  much  of  his  wonted  firm 
ness.  Probably  he  knew  the  pursuer,  had  heard  his  story,  and 
dreaded  his  vengeance.  It  was  not  improbable,  indeed,  that  he 
himself  had  been  one  of  those  concerned  in  the  assault  upon 
Fraiupton's  wife.  If  so,  the  flight  of  the  one  and  the  concentrated 
pursuit  of  the  other  were  both  natural  enough.  Guilt  is  apt  to 
despair,  and  to  sink  into  imbecility,  in  its  own  consciousness  of 
crime,  and  in  the  presence  of  the  true  avenger.  Still,  for  a  mo 
ment,  there  was  a  show  of  spirit,  lie  wheeled,  and  confronted  tin 
pursuer  with  a  word  of  defiance  ;  but  the  moment  after,  he  turned 
again  in  flight,  lie  ran  over  the  tussock  upon  which  both  of  them 
now  stood,  and,  bounding  through  a  pond  that  lay  in  his  way, 
made  off  for  a  close  cover  of  cypresses  that  grew  at  a  little 
distance. 

Should  he  giiii  that  cover,  his  safety  would  most  probably  be 
certain,  as  he  would  then  have  gained  on  Frampton,  and  had  long 
since  been  out  of  reach  of  the  rest.  Hut  if  the  one  ran  with  the 
speed  of  fear,  madness  gave  wings  to  the  other.  The  fugitive 
looked  over  Lis  shoulder  once  as  he  flew,  and  he  could  see  in  the 
eye  of  his  pursuer  that  there  was  no  pity,  nothing  but  death  ;  and 
utterly  vain  must  be  his  cry  for  quarter.  Perhaps  he  felt  this  con 
viction  only  from  a  due  consciousness  of  what  he  deserved  from 
his  own  atrocities.  The  thought  increased  his  speed  ;  but,  though 
capable  and  elastic  enough,  he  could  not  escape  the  man  who 
niplied  behind  him.  Defying  wood,  water,  and  every  obstruction, 
the  fierce  wretch  pressed  close  upon  the  fugitive.  The  corpora! 
felt  (he  splashing  of  the  water  from  his  adversary's  feet;  he  knew 
that  the  next  moment  must  be  followed  by  the  whirl  of  tlie  sabre; 
and  he  sank  motionless  to  the  ground.  The  blow  wont,  clean  over 
him  ;  but  though  it  carried  Krampton  beyond  him,  yet  he  did  not 
fall.  The  maniac  soon  recovered,  and  confronted  the  corporal,  who 
LOW  found  it.  impossible  to  fly  ;  his  hope  was  in  fight  only.  But 
what  was  his  lifted  weapon  against  that  of  his  opponent,  wiekioU 


THE  MANIAC'S  VENGEANCE.  91 

by  his  superior  strength,  made  terrible  by  madness  !  The  sword 
was  dashed  aside — dashed  down  in  the  heavy  sweeping  stroke  with 
which  the  other  prefaced  the  conflict. 

'•  Mercy  !  mercy !"  cried  the  corporal,  as  he  saw  that  it  was  all 
over.  A  howl  like  that  of  the  wolf  was  the  only  response,  and 
the  weapon  bit  through  the  bone  as  the  arm  was  unavailingly 
thrown  up  to  resist  it.  The  stricken  member  hung  only  by  the 
bkin  arid  a  part  of  the  coat-sleeve.  The  steel  was  already  in  the 
air — 

"  Mercy,  Frampton  !  have  merey — " 

The  speech  was  silenced,  as,  crushing  through  bone  and  brain, 
the  thick  sword  dug  its  way  down  into  the  very  eyes  of  the 
pleader.  The  avenger  knelt  upon  the  senseless  body,  as  it  lay  at 
his  feet,  and  poured  forth  above  it  a  strain  of  impious  thanksgiv 
ing  to  Heaven  for  so  much  granted  and  gained  of  the  desired  ven 
geance.  Ilis  wild,  wolfish  laugh,  at  intervals  while  he  prayed, 
taught  the  rest  of  the  party  where  to  look  for  him. 


CHAPTER    IX.        ^ 

"  It  is  all  dim — the  way  still  stretches  out 
Far  iu  the  distance.     We  may  nothing  see, 
Till  comes  the  season  in  the  dawning  li»bt." 

IT  was  an  easy  victory,  and  won  without  loss.  Wiping  his 
bloody  sword  upon  the  mane  of  his  steed,  Major  Singleton  rodo  up 
to  his  captives,  who,  by  this  time,  were  all  properly  secured. 
Four  persons  had  fallen  in  the  conflict,  ami  among  these  was  their 
leader,  Travis,  lie  was  shot  dead  upon  the  spot,  dough  was 
severely  wounded  in  the  breast,  though  perhaps  not  mortally,  and 
lav  gaspi»g>  hut  without  a  groan,  upon  the  ground  where  he  had 
fallen,  and  around  which  the  surviving  prisoners  were  grouped. 
Three  others  had  fallen,  either  killed  outright  or  mortally  wounded: 
two  of  these  by  the  sabre,  not  including  the  corporal,  who  fell  by 
the  hand  of  Frampton,  and  who  was  at  once  rolled  into  the  swamp. 
The  prisoners,  five  in  number,  were  natives,  generally  of  the  very 
lowest  class,  and  just  the  sort  of  men  to  tight,  according  to  the 
necessity  of  the  case,  on  either  side.  Such,  indeed,  were  a  large 
proportion  of  the  tories  residing  in  the  province.  There  were 
many  who  were  avowedly  monarchists ;  who  had  no  sympathy 
with  the  revolutionary  movement,  and  no  belief  in  its  necessity  01 
propriety ;  many  who  were  of  foreign  birth,  Scotch,  German,  and 
English  ;  and  these  were  frequently  persons  of  great  worth,  and 
conscientious  in  the  adoption  of  their  cause,  and  of  these,  the 
unprejudiced  judgment  of  our  times  has  determined  that  there 
can  be  no  proper  ground  for  reproach.  But  with  the  class  of 
whom  we  write,  and  whom  we  find  engaged  in  such  warfare  as  that 
which  \ve  describe,  the  case  is  different  For  them,  there  can  be  no 
apology.  They  were  desperates  of  the  worst  description — outcasts 
from  several  of  the  provinces, — who.  ,axm6  refuse  ai  £rat  hi 
Florida — which  still  remained  leva',  o  the  British  crown — had 


THE    CAROLINA    TOiilES.  95 

ized  the  moment  of  British  ascendency  in  the  Soruli,  to  inun- 
ite  Carolina  and  Georgia  with  their  masses.  Without  leading 
•inciples  and  miserably  poor — not  recognised,  except  as  merce- 
iries,  in  the  social  aristocracies  which  mflst  always  prevail  in 
aveholding  nations — they  had  no  sympathy  with  the  more  inilu- 
itial  classes, — those  who  were  the  first  to  resist  the  authority  of 
ngiand.  The  love  of  gain,  the  thirst  for  rapine,  and  that 
Branding  and  gipsy  h^bit  of  life  which  was  now  familiar  to 
em,  were  all  directly  appealed  to  in  the  tory  mode  of  warfare. 
hey  were  ready  on  any  side  which  offered  them  the  greatest 
lance  for  indulging  in  these  habits.  The  tories  forming  Hack's 
ivalry  were  all  of  this  sort ;  and  the  small  detachment  just  over- 
row  n  by  Singleton  had  no  sympathy  with  their  leader,  only  as 
s  known  character  promised  them  plunder.  Defeat  had  no 
traction  in  their  eyes ;  and,  as  that  is  always  the  true  cause 
Inch  is  triumphant,  they  now  freely  tendered  themselves,  with 
amorous  tongues,  and  to  the  no  small  chagrin  of  the  wounded 
lough,  as  recruits  for  Singleton.  The  Briton  denounced  their 
erfidy  in  fearless  language,  and  threatened  them  terribly  with  the 
engeance  of  Iluck  and  Tarleton  ;  but  the  remote  fear  is  no  fear 
ith  the  vulgar.  They  seldom  think  in  advance  of  the  necessity, 
nd  the  exhortation  of  their  wounded  officer  had  no  visible  effect, 
hey  persisted  in  their  determination  to  fight  on  the  right  side, 
nd  earnestly  asserted  their  love  of  country,  alleging  that  force 
nly  had  placed  them  in  the  ranks  of  the  enemy.  Major  Single- 
>n  conferred  with  Humphries  on  the  course  to  be  taken  iu  this 
latter.  The  latter  knew  most  of  the  parties,  but  had  been  pru- 

:nt  to  keep  from  sight,  and  they  had  not  seen  him,  only  in  the 
rief  glimpse  which  they  had  of  him  in  the  pursuit,  when,  at  such 

distance,  perpetually  moving,  and  with  his  face  well  smeared 
ith  the  rank  ooze  from  the  creek  around  him,  he  must  have  been 
nknown,  except  upon  the  narrowest  examination,  even  to  the 
lothcr  that  had  borne  him.  It  was  still  his  policy  to  keep  from 
ght  in  connexion  with  his  whig  partisans ;  for,  passing  in  Dor- 
hester  as  a  loyal  citizen — a  character  in  part  obtained  through  hia 
ither's  loudly-voiced  attachment  to  the  existing  powers — he  was 
f  far  greater  advantage  to  the  cause  of  the  country  than  k*  poa- 


96  TILE   PARTISAN. 

sibly  coultl  have  been  even  in  active  military  service.  He  obtained 
intelligence  with  singular  adroitness,  conveyed  it  with  despatch, 
and  planned  enterprises  upon  the  facts  he  thus  gathered,  with  no 
little  tact  and  ingenuity.  To  remain  unknown,  therefore,  or  only 
known  as  he  had  been  heretofore,  in  close  connexion  with  loyalty 
alone,  was  clearly  the  policy  of  our  lieutenant. 

There  was  one  man  from  whom  Humphries  seemed  willing  to 
withhold  his  confidence.  He  counselled  his  commander  to  accept 
the  services  of  the  remaining  four,  recommending  that  they  should 
be  so  distributed  among  the  men  who  had  been  tried,  as  to  defeat 
any  concert  between  them,  should  they  feel  any  impulse  to  disaf 
fection.  In  this  manner  it  was  also  thought  that  a  proper  bias 
would  be  given  to  their  minds,  which,  as  they  both  knew,  were 
sufficiently  flexible  to  find  but  little  difficulty  in  conforming  to  any 
circumstances  which  should  for  a  moment  take  the  shape  of  a 
necessity. 

"  But  the  fifth — the  other  fellow — the  blear-eyed — what  of  him  ? 
You  say  nothing  of  him,  Humphries." 

Singleton  pointed  through  the  copse  as  he  spoke,  where  the 
individual  referred  to  leaned  against  a  tree,  a  little  apart  from  the 
rest ;  bis  head  cast  down,  his  arms  relaxed  beside  him,  one  leg  at 
ease,  while  the  whole  weight  of  his  body  rested  upon  the  other. 
The  features  of  his  face  were  dark  and  unprepossessing — dark  and 
sallow;  his  cheeks  lank  and  colourless;  a  small  nose;  retreating 
forehead,  covered  with  long  thin  black  hair,  that  streamed  from 
imdor  a  broad  white  hat,  something  the  worse  for  wear.  A 
strange  protrusion  of  his  eyes  gave  his  face  a  gross  and  base 
expression,  which  was  not  before  lacking  to  produce  distrust,  ov 
even  dislike,  in  the  mind  of  the  observer.  Humphries  gazed  on 
him  a  moment  before  he  spoke,  then,  as  if  satisfied,  he  proceeded 
to  reply — 

"  I  know  nothing  against  the  chap,  major ;  but  the  truth  is,  I 
don't  like  him.  Indeed,  I  know  nobody  that  does.  His  right 
name  is  Blonay,  but  we  all  know  him  better  by  the  name  of  Gog 
gle — a  nickname  which  he  got  on  account  of  his  eyes.  Something 
has  hurt  them  when  young,  which,  you  see,  makes  him  stare  when 
he  look*  at  you." 


GOGGLE.  97 

"Well,  hut  we  must  nut  iciuse  him  because  he  has  got  a  blear 
eye ;  we  are  too  much  in  need  of  men  to  stand  upon  trifles.  Know 
you  nothing  against  him  ?  " 

"The  blood's  bad  that's  in  him.  His  father  was  a  horse-thief, 
and  they  do  say,  a  mulatto  or  an  Indian.  As  for  himself,  the 
worst  is,  that  we  know  nothing  about  him  ;  and  that's  no  good 
sign,  major,  in  a  country  where  everybody  knows  the  business  of 
everybody.  How  he  lives,  and  where  and  by  what  means  he  getu 
his  bread,  is  a  secret.  Ue  will  not  work;  but  see  him  when  you 
will,  you  see  him  as  you  see  him  now — one  half  of  him  sleeping 
while  the  other  half  takes  the  watch.  Not  that  he  can't  move 
when  the  time  comes  for  it — or  rather  when  he's  in  the  hutnour 
for  it.  Touch  him  close  upon  his  goggle  eye,  and  he's  up  in  arnii 
m  a  moment.  He  will  fight  like  a  wildcat,  too,  and  that's  in  his 
favour ;  but  the  worst  is,  he  tight*  with  n  bad  heart,  and  loves  to 
'•ernember  injuries.  I  do  believe  they  keep  him  from  sleep  at 
night.  He'*  not  like  our  people  in  that;  he  can't  knock  away  at 
once,  and  have  done  with  it,  but  he  goes  to  bed  to  think  about  it, 
and  to  plan  when  to  knock,  so  as  never  to  have  done  with  it. 
He  loves  to  keep  his  wrongs  alive,  so  that  he  may  always  be 
revenging." 

"  Still,  I  see  nothing,  lieutenant,  that  should  make  us  discourage 
his  desires;  and,  truth  to  say,  it. is  far  easier  for  us  now  to  keep 
doubtful  friends  in  our  ranks,  moving  with  us,  and  continually 
under  our  eye,  than  positive  enemies  in  our  camp  in  the  form  of 
prisoners,  whom  we  are  bound  to  keep  guard  over.  We  can 
manage  our  allies  if  they  show  signs  of  bad  faith,  although  we  risk 
something,  doubtless,  even  by  the  partial  confidence.  Better  do 
this  than  break  up.  our  Uttle  force  watching  those  who  profess 
themselves  friends,  and  may  yet  prove  so." 

"You  may  be  right,  major,  and  I  only  speak  perhaps  from  an 
old  prejudice;  but  keep  an  eye  upon  him,  for  he  certainly  will  keep 
one  on  you.  Even  now  he  is  looking  slyly  to  this  bush,  although 
be  can't  see  or  hear  either  of  us,  but  after  the  old  fashion,  to  find 
out  what  he  can.  If  he  were  only  honest,  he'd  be  a  spy  among  a 
thousand." 

u  I  will  see  to  him  m  particular,  and  if  it  be  possible  to  drill 


98  THE    PARTISAN. 

honesty  into  him,  something  may  bo  got  out  of  him  yet.  We 
must  take  him."  • 

"  Very  good,  sir ; — and  you  now  go  back  into  the  camp  I" 

"  Yes :  \ve  must  put  the  wounded  man  into  some  sort  of  care, 
though  he  will  suffer,  wanting  attendance." 

"  Leave  that  to  me,  sir.  You  take  him  into  camp,  and  I  have 
two  men  to  come  out  this  very  day,  one  of  whom  is  a  sort  of  doc 
tor — good  as  any  one  hereabout.  He  used  to  drench  horses  iii 
Dorchester ;  and  some  of  the  grannies  did  say,  that  there  were  no 
drinks  like  those  made  by  Doctor  Oakenburg.  I5ut  that,  Tin 
thinking,  was  because  he  put  more  brandy  in  them  than  anything 
else ;  and  if  a  Dorchester  granny  loves  one  thing  more  than  ano 
ther,  after  opium,  it  is  brandy;  and  sometimes,  liking  them  equally 
well,  she  takes  both  together.  Lie,  major,  and  the  old  negro,  with 
some  one  of  the  troop,  will  be  guard  enough,  and  Framptou's  son 
Lance  can  stay  with  them  in  the  swamp.  He's  quite  too  young  te 
be  of  much  service,  and  will  only  learn  what's  bad,  going  with 
the  troop." 

"  I  have  thought  better  of  that,  and  shall  endeavour  to  attach 
tlie  lad  to  myself,  and  probably,  in  the  end,  place  him  at  '  The 
Oaks'  with  my  uncle.  But  time  wears,  and  we  must  move  for  the 
camp.  I  shall  take  these  men  into  service,  and  place  the  wounded 
man  under  the  charge  of  one  of  the  troopers,  and  ycur  doctor  can 
relieve  him." 

"  Well,  the  doctor  will  be  here  to-day  with  Lieutenant  Porgy" — 

"Porgy — an  ancient  and  fishlike  name." 

"  Yes,  but  Lieutenant  Porgy  is  not  a  fish — though  you  may  call 
him  a  strange  one.  He  is  more  fleshy  than  fishy ;  for  that  matter 
he  has  flesh  enough  for  a  score  of  dragoons.  He's  a0  perfect  moun 
tain  of  flesh." 

"  He  will  never  suit  for  a  dragoon,  Humphries." 

"Well,  Sir,  if  I  didn't  know  the  man,  T  should  think  so  too  ;  but 
he  rides  like  the  devil,  and  fights  like  blazes,  lie's  been  fighting 
from  the  very  beginning  of  the  war  down  in  the  south.  He  comes 
from  the  Ashepoo,  and  is  a  mighty  smart  fellow,  1  tell  you.  You'll 
like  him.  Lord,  how  he  can  talk.  You'll  like  him,  I  know.  He's 
been  a  rich  planter  in  his  time,  but  he's  ate  and  drank  and  talked 


LIEUT.    PORGY.  99 

everything  away,  I  reckon,  but  his  horse,  his  nigger  servant,  and 
his  broadsword." 

"  And  he's  one  of  our  lieutenants,  you  say." 

"  Yes,  he  joined  us,  saying  he  had  been  a  lieutenant  from  the 
beginning,  with  Harden  and  Moultrie,  and  he  wasn't  going  to  be 
less  with  anybody  else.  You'll  like  him,  Sir,  he's  a  man ;  though 
lie's  a  mountain  of  flesh." 

"  Very  good.  I  suppose  you  know  him  well,  and  now  to  other 
matters." 

Counselling  thus,  the  two  continued  to  confer  apart  upon  other 
matters  connected  with  their  enterprise.  To  visit  "  The  Oaks" 
during  the  day,  where  his  uncle  and  sister  resided,  was  the  object 
of  Singleton  ;  out  his  desire  was  also  to  intercept  the  supply  ot 
arms  and  ammunition  of  which  Huck  had  spoken  as  on  their  way 
to  Dorchester.  They  were  looked  for  hourly,  and  could  not  be 
very  remote.  It  was  determined,  therefore,  to  intercept  them,  if 
practicable,  as  an  acquisition  of  the  last  importance.  To  arrange 
their  route,  plan  tho  place  of  their  next  meeting,  provide  the  means 
of  intelligence,  and  concert  what  local  measures  might  seem  neces 
sary  in  future,  was  the  work  of  but  little  time  between  the  two ; 
and  this  done,  Humphries,  withdrawing  silently  from  the  cover  in 
which  the  conference  had  been  carried  on,unperceived  by  the  rest, 
made  his  way  by  a  different  route  out  of  the  swamp,  and  keeping 
the  forest  all  the  way,  was,  after  no  long  time,  safely  in  Dorchester 
—  looking  for  all  the  world  as  pacific  and  quiet  as  ever — without 
weapon  of  any  kind,  as,  with  a  wonted  precaution,  he  had  left  his 
.<\vord  in  the  woods,  safely  hidden,  and  his  hands  now  grasped  only 
the  common  wagon-whip,  which  he  handled  with  a  dexterity  which 
seemed  to  indicate  but  little  acquaintance  with  any  more  danger- 
ous  or  deadly  instruments. 

Major  Singleton,  in  the  mean  while,  had  returned  to  his  troop. 
They  had  been  busied  during  his  absence  in  collecting  the  scattered 
horses  and  arms,  and  repairing  their  own  little  losses.  The  captives 
were  loud  in  the  profession  of  their  new  faith,  as  patriots;  and  aa 
rebellion  loves  company,  the  wings  were  not  unwilling  to  receive 
an  accession,  even  from  their  late  enemies.  Major  Singleton  de 
clared  his  acceptance  of  their  services,  taking  care  to  address  him- 


100  THE   PARTISAN 

eelf  particularly  to  the  man  Blonay,  or,  as  they  styled  him  more 
familiarly,  Goggle.  An  awkward  touch  of  the  hat  acknowledged 
this  last  courtesy,  and  one  eye  of  Goggle,  as  he  made  the  move 
ment,  peered  up  into  that  of  Singelton  with  a  searching  and  doubt 
ful  glance.  The  major  did  not  appear  to  notice  him  or  them  any 
farther,  but,  giving  directions  for  the  disposal  of  the  wounded  ser 
geant,  Clough,  so  as  to  spare  him  as  much  pain  as  possible,  he  led 
the  way  once  more  to  the  cover  of  the  secluded  place,  in  the  centre 
of  the  swamp,  which  had  been  chosen  as  their  camping-ground. 

Here  the  whole  party  arrived  at  length,  and  having  completed 
his  arrangements,  placing  Clough  in  charge  of  one  of  bis  dragoons, 
and  in  as  much  comfort  as  possible,  Major  Singleton  gave  the 
word,  and  the  squad  moved  forward  on  their  way  out  of  the 
swamp,  and  in  the  direction  of  the  village.  But  this  course  was 
only  kept  while  he  yet  remained  in  the  swamp.  As  soon  as  he 
emerged  from  it,  he  drew  up  his  men,  and  then,  for  the  first  time, 
perceived  the  absence  of  the  elder  Framptou.  The  two  sous  had 
kept  with  the  troop,  and  seemed  to  know  nothing  of  their  father. 
The  younger  had  ridden  close  beside  his  commander,  who  had  so 
willed  it.  Nobody  could  give  him  any  account  of  the  absent  man 
after  his  removal  from  the  body  of  the  corporal  whom  he  had  slain. 
He  had  disappeared  suddenly,  it  was  thought  at  that  juncture, 
and  there  were  not  wanting  those  who  insisted  upon  his  absence 
from  that  moment ;  but  Singleton  remembered  to  have  seen  him 
after  they  had  reached  the  camp,  and  to  have  noted  the  singular  com- 
posednfcss  of  his  features.  But  few  farther  inquiries  were  made 
after  the  absentee,  as  the  major  well  knew  that  with  a  man  in  such 
a  mood  but  little  could  be  done.  He  was,  perhaps,  perfectly  satis- 
tied  that  nothing  could  have  happened  to  hi«n,  from  the  composure 
of  the  two  sons,  who,  doubtless,  were  acquainted  with  all  the 
father's  movements.  Conjecture  succeedod  to  inquiry,  but  was 
interrupted  by  the  order  to  move  on. 

The  course  of  the  troop  lay  now  towards  the  Goose  Creek  road. 
Major  Singleton  dared  not  carry  his  squad  along  the  Ashley  with 
out  exposing  himself,  unnecessarily,  to  unequal  encounter  ;  and,  at 
Dorchester,  with  a  force  far  superior  to  his  own.  Pursuing  a  north 
erly  direction  for  a  while,  therefore,  he  placed  himself  at  equal 


THE   SCOUTS   ON    TRAIL.  101 

distances  between  the  Wassamasah  and  Dorchester  roads ;  then 
striking  to  the  left,  he  passed  over  an  un travelled  surface  of 
country,  broken  with  frequent  swamps,  and  crowded  with  luxuriant 
undergrowth.  In  a  few  hours,  however,  he  had  gone  over  the 
ground  almost  unseen,  and  certainly  unobstructed.  Davis  was  his 
j^'uide  in  this  quarter,  and  he  could  not  have  had  a  better.  The 
discarded  lover  had  given  sufficient  earnest  of  his  truth  and  valour, 
in  the  courage  and  perfect  coolness  of  his  conduct  in  the  preceding 
jtruggle ;  and  he  now  led  the  party  with  all  the  caution  of  the 
veteran,  and  all  the  confidence  of  a  thorough-bred  soldier. 

The  road,  like  all  in  that  country,  was  low  and  miry  ;  and  the 
path  taken  for  greater  security,  being  little  travelled,  was  still  more 
troubled  with  natural  obstructions.  They  reached  the  desired  point 
at  length,  which  was  the  Goose  Creek  Bridge ;  then  leaving  it  to 
the  left,  they  once  more  departed  from  the  beaten  track,  and 
throwing  themselves  directly  across  the  country,  were,  after  a  few 
hours,  again  upon  the  Dorchester  road,  and  some  two  or  three 
miles  below  the  garrison.  They  covered  themselves  in  the  close 
forest  by  Archdale  Hall,  and  Singleton  then  proceeded  to  inspect 
the  road.  To  his  great  satisfaction,  he  saw  that  the  wagons  had 
not  yet  made  their  appearance,  and  must  be  still  below  them. 
Cheered  with  this  conviction,  he  despatched  scouts  to  bring  him 
intelligence,  and  then  proceeded  to  arrange  an  ambush  for  the 
entrapping  of  the  looked-for  detachment. 

The  road,  at  the  spot  chosen  for  this  purpose,  was  narrow — but 
a  single  track,  and  that  raised  into  a  causeway  from  a  ditch  on 
either  side,  at  that  time  filled  with  water,  and  presenting  natural 
advantages  for  the  forming  of  an  ambush.  The  woods,  growing 
dose  and  thickly,  formed  a  natural  defile,  of  which  Singleton,  with 
ihe  eye  of  experience,  soon  availed  himself.  He  divided  his  little 
force  into  two  equal  bodies  ;  and  giving  the  command  of  one  of 
them  to  Davis,  placed  him  upon  the  right  of  the  road  in  the  route 
from  Charleston,  while  he  himself  occupied  the  left.  The  former 
division  lying  in  covert  some  fifty  yards  below,  was  ready,  in  the 
event  of  a  struggle  between  the  baggage  guard  and  Singleton's 
troop — to  which  it  was  to  be  left — to  secure  the  precious  chare;* 
which  the  guard  had  anler*,aken  to  .lefend,  and  at  the  same  tim« 
6 


102  Til!-:    PART  WAX. 

to  cut  oft' their  retreat.     Thus  arranged,  and  \viih  the  t>!an  of  con- 

O          *  I 

duct  properly  understood  on  nil  hands,  the  parlio.-  lay  close  hidden, 
impatiently  awaiting  the  approach  of  the  v-neiny. 

They  had  not  long  to  wait ;  for,  scarcely  had  their  arrangements 
been  well  completed,  before  the  scouts  came  at  full  gallop  along 
l he  path,  crying  loudly  that  the  enemy  was  at  hand.  A  shot  or 
two  whistled  over  the  heads  of  the  fugitives  at  the  same  moment, 
giving  full  confirmation  to  their  intelligence  ;  and  a  few  seconds 
after,  the  rush  of  half  a  score  of  British  dragoons  was  heard  upon 
their  footsteps.  Passing  through  the  ambuscade  without  pausing 
for  an  instant,  the  scouts  kept  on  their  flight,  bringing  the  pursu 
ers  fairly  between  the  two  parties.  Once  enclosed,  a  shrill  whistle 
from  Singleton  announced  the  charge  which,  he  led  in  person  ;  and 
dashing  out  from  his  cover,  he  threw  his  men  quickly  between  the 
flying  scouts  and  the  assailants.  In  the  same  moment  the  squad 
of  Davis  obeying  the  same  signal,  as  repeated  by  their  leader, 
followed  him  as  he  charged  upon  the  force  left  in  possession  of  the 
munition  wagons.  The  guard  in  this  quarter,  seeing  the  superi 
ority  of  the  force  opposed  to  them,  and  struck  with  surprise,  offered 
but  a  feeble  resistance,  and  were  soon  put  to  flight.  Davis  fol 
lowed  them  a  little  distance,  and  then  returned  to  the  aid  of  Sin 
gleton.  His  approach  arid  attack  upon  the  rear  of  the  party  with 
which  his  commander  had  been  contending,  put  an  end  to  the 
fio-ht< — the  dragoons  having  lost  three  men  killed  and  two  wounded. 
With  the  charge  of  Davis,  they  threw  down  their  arms  and  wera 
made  prisoners. 


CHAPTER    X 

"  I  MB  the  ship*  of  murder,  with  red  hand, 
That  through  the  night  creeps  to  hit  rictim'l  conch." 

THE  whole  affair  was  over  in  the  space  of  ten  minutes.  In  ;i» 
little  time  the  wagons  were  sacked.  The  swords  and  pistols  wert 
strewn  upon  the  ground,  and  each  trooper  made  his  selection  with 
out  stint  or  limit.  In  addition  to  this,  each  soldier  was  required 
to  cany  an  extra  sword,  and  holsters  with  their  contents;  and  in 
this  manner  supplies  were  secured  for  a  much  larger  force  than 
that  which  Singleton  now  commanded.  The  rest  were  broken 
against  the  trees — muskets,  pistols,  and  swords  sharing  the  same 
fate — while  the  wagons  themselves,  carefully  tumbled  from  their 
axles,  and  their  wheels  torn  apart,  were  thrown  into  the  slough  by 
the  road-side.  There  was  no  concealing  their  spoils,  under  the 
circumstances,  and  with  prisoners  to  take  care  of;  and  the  necessity, 
which  called  for  this  destruction  of  property,  so  valuable  at  the 
time,  was  the  subject  of  no  small  regret  with  the  troopers.  Even 
Davis  muttered  to  the  major  his  desire  that  the  wagons,  or  at  least 
one  of  them,  should  be  preserved  and  filled  with  spoils  so  highly 
important  to  the  enterprise.  But  Singleton  knew  better  than  to 
encumber  his  party,  whose  utility  consisted  chiefly  in  the  rapidity 
of  its  movement,  with  such  burdens,  and  peremptorily  enforced 
the  order  which  destroyed  the  valuable  residue.  This  done,  he 
gave  orders  to  mount ;  and  having  carefully  secured  his  prisoners, 
the  party  moved  at  a  brisk  pace  along  the  road  downward  until 
they  came  within  ten  miles  of  the  city  ;  then  moving  to  the  right, 
they  crossed  Ashley  ferry  without  molestation,  and  towards  even 
ing  had  placed  themselves  in  safety,  with  all  their  spoils,  in  the 
close  swamp  thickets  of  the  river,  on  the  western  side,  and  but  a 
short  distance  from  Dorchester  itself. 


D4.  THE    PARTISAN. 

Here  Singleton  made  his  camp,  within  a  lew  miles  of  his  uncle's 
plantation.  He  now  felt  secure  for  a  brief  period,  as  he  was 
taught  to  believe  that  the  affections  of  the  people  were  with  his 
cause,  and  the  rapidity  of  his  proceedings  must  baffle  any  pursuit. 
Still  he  knew  that  he  could  not  hope  to  maintain  this  security  for 
any  time.  The  audacity  of  the  two  efforts  which  he  had  made 
that  day,  so  nigh  the  garrison,  could  not  long  be  concealed,  and 
must  soon  call  out  a  superior  force  sufficient  for  his  annihilation. 
This  he  well  knew ;  yet  he  required  but  a  few  days  for  all  his  pur 
poses. 

His  object  was  twofold — the  attainment  of  recruits,  and  the 
arousing  of  his  uncle,  whose  bravery  was  well  known,  and  whose 
influence  in  the  country  was  considerable,  to  a  proper  sense  of  his 
duty.  The  first  of  these  objects  promised  well,  so  far  as  opportu 
nity  had  been  given  him  to  judge ; — of  the  second,  he  did  not 
despair,  particularly  as  he  well  knew  what  must  be  the  influence 
upon  Colonel  Walton  of  the  recent  proclamation  of  Sir  Henry 
Clinton.  He  knew  the  stern  sense  of  integrity  which  the  colonel 
insisted  upon  with  the  tenacity  of  a  professional  moral  disciplina 
rian;  and  he  did  not  err  in  the  thought,  that  his  sense  of  huma 
nity  was  sufficiently  alive  lo  prompt  a  due  indignation  at  the  many 
atrocities  hourly  committed  by  the  tory  leaders  under  the  especial 
sanction  of  the  British.  Other  motives  for  the  contemplated  visit 
might  not  be  wanting  to  his  mind,  as  he  thought  of  his  lovely 
cousin  — the  stately  and  the  beautiful  Katharine  Walton — one  of 
those  high-souled  creatures  that  awe  while  they  attract ;  and,  even 
while  they  invite  and  captivate,  control  and-  discourage.  His  sis 
ter,  too— she  was  there  ;  a  meek,  sad,  but  uncomplaining  girl,  per 
ishing  of  disease,  without  having  lived — one  of  the  tmrepiuing 
sufferers,  whose  melancholy  fortunes,  so  much  at  variance  with 
what  we  know  of  their  deserts,  would  lead  us  sometimes  irnpio 
perly  to  doubt  of  that  justice  which  we  assume  to  mark  all  the 
decrees  of  Providence.  But  let  us  not  anticipate. 

Having  placed  his  camp  in  such  security  as  he  thought  neces 
sary  and  which  was  practicable,  Major  Singleton  towards  sunset 
rod«  forth  in  the  direction  of  Dorchester  Bridge  to  meet  HUTP- 


CUI'lD   SHOWS   HIMSELF.  106 

phries,  as  had  been  agreed  upon  between  them.  '1  he  lieutenant  was 
in  waiting  at  the  time  appointed,  and  came  forward  to  meet  his 
superoir. 

"  Ride  aside,  Major  Singleton,  if  you  please.  The  brush  is  best 
for  us  just  now.  There  are  strange  birds  on  our  road  thai  we 
must  sheer  from." 

"  What  mean  you,  Humphries — what  birds  f ' 

*'  British  officers  !  Major  Proctor,  himself,  and  another  have 
just  gone  by;  and  if  I  mistake  not,  on  a  visit  to  'The  Oaks.' 
They  say  he  looks  hard  upon  your  cousin,  sir,  the  beautiful  Miss 
Katharine." 

"  Ha !  do  they  say  that  ?"  responded  Major  Singleton,  with 
something  like  a  start — "  and  she  ?"  he  continued,  inquiringly. 

"  They  say  nothing  of  her,  whether  she  likes  it  or  not ;  bui 
young  ladies  will  be  young  ladies,  major  ;  and  a  smart  officer,  with 
a  king's  commission  in  his  pocket,  and  a  showy  red  coat  on  his 
back,  is  no  small  danger  to  an  easy  heart." 

"  No,  indeed  !"  replied  the  other,  in  a  tone  which  seemed  to 
have  found  nothing  consolatory  in  his  companion's  reflection,  and 
in  which  there  may  have  been  something  of  latent  bitterness — 
"  no,  indeed  ! — such  attractions  are  at  all  times  sweet  with  the  sex, 
and  seldom  utterly  unsuccessful.  They  love  the  conquest,  always, 
even  when  they  may  despise  the  game.  'Tis  with  most  of  them 
after  this  fashion,  and  the  goodly  outside  is  a  fair  offset  to  worth 
and  good  manners.  But  how  shall  we  know,  of  a  certainty,  the 
destination  of  Proctor?" 

"  Only  by  dogging  his  footsteps,  major.  We  may  do  that  with 
some  safety,  however,  as  I  happen  to  know  the  back  track  which 
hugs  the  river,  and  is  seldom  travelled.  This  brings  us  close  oa 
the  park,  yet  gives  us  a  good  shelter  all  the  way  along  the  copse. 
We  shall  take  our  watch,  and  yet  be  all  the  time  hidden  ;  and 
where  I  shall  cany  you  shall  give  us  a  fair  peep  \t  all  the  grounds 
as  well  as  the  river." 

"  That  is  well.  And  now  of  Dorchester  ;  what  stirs  in  the  vil 
lage  ?  and  what  of  Huck  ?  Do  they  know  yet  of  the  affair  of  th« 
swamp,  or  are  they  ever  like  to  know  ?" 

ki  They  know  not  yet,  certainly  ;  but  Hack  musters  strong,  and 


106  THE    PARTISAN, 

talks  of  a  drive  to  Camdeu.     There  is  uews,  too,  which  moves  the 
garrison  much.     They  talk  of  the  continentals  from  Virginia." 

"  Do  they  ?  they  must  be  De  Kalb's.  And  what  do  they  say  OH 
the  subject  ?  do  they  speak  of  him  as  at  hand  ?" 

"  Nothing  much,  but  they  look  a  deal,  and  the  whigs  talk  a 
little  more  boldly.  This  provokes  iiuck,  who  threatens  a  start  on 
the  strength  of  it,  and  is  hurrying  his  recruits  for  that  purpo?<.\ 
There  is  also  some  talk  of  a  force  from  North  Carolina  under  Sum- 
tor,  and  they  have  got  wind  of  the  last  move  of  our  Colon*;! 
Marion,  there-away  among  Gainey's  corps  of  tories,  where  you  cut 
them  up  in  such  fine  style ;  but  there's  nothing  certain,  and  this  I 
get  out  of  Huck  in  curses  now  and  then.  He's  mighty  anxious 
that  I  should  join  him,  and  I'm  thinking  to  do  so,  if  it  promises  to 
give  me  a  better  hold  on  him." 

"  Think  not  of  it,  Humphries ;  it  will  be  twice  putting  your 
neck  in  the  halter,  and  the  good  that  it  may  do  is  too  doubtful  to 
justify  such  a  risk." 

"  He  presses  me  mighty  hard,  major,  and  I  must  keep  out  of  his 
way  or  consent.  He  begins  to  wonder  why  I  do  not  join  his 
troop,  and  with  some  reason  too,  believing  me  to  be  a  loyalist,  for 
certainly,  were  I  to  do  so,  it  would  be  the  very  making  of  me." 

"  Thou  wouldst  not  turn  traitor,  Humphries  ?"  replied  the  other, 
looking  sternly  upon  the  speaker. 

"  Does  Major  Singleton  ask  the  question  now  !"  was  the  reply, 
in  a  tone  which  had  in  it  something  of  reproach. 

"  I  should  not,  certainly,  Humphries,  knowing  what  I  do.  For 
give  me ;  but  in  these  times  there  is  so  much  to  make  us  suspect 
our  neighbours,  that  suspicions  become  natural  to  every  mind. 
You  1  know,  however,  and  I  have  trusted  you  too  long  not  to  con 
tin  tie  in  my  confidence  now.  But  how  come  on  our  recruits  ?" 

"  Tolerably ;  as  you  say,  these  are  suspicious  times,  major,  an-;! 
they  are  slow  to  t/ust.  Rut  the  feeling  is  good  with  us,  and  they 
only  wait  to  .see  some  of  the  chances  in  our  favour  before  they 
come  out  boldly  in  the  cause." 

"  Now,  out  upon  the  calculating  wretches !  Will  they  dare 
nothing,  but  always  wait  for  the  lead  of  others  ?  Chances,  indeed ! 
M  if  true  courage  and  a  bold  heart  did  not  always  make  their  own. 


A    SILENT    PATRIOT.  107 

But  what  of  the   villagers  ?     How  of  thai  old   tavern-keeper  of 
whom  you  spoke — your  father's  rival  ?" 

"But  so  no  longer.  Old  JVyor.  you  mean,  lit;  is  a  prime 
piece  of  stuff,  and  will  iiot  scruple  to  do  what's  wanted.  He  was 
always  true  with  us,  though  kept  down  by  those,  about  him  ;  yet 
he  only  wants  to  see  others  in  motion  to  move  too.  He'll  do  any 
thing  now — the  more  readily,  as  the  Royal  George,  being  entirely 
loyal,  does  all  the  business;  and  poor  Pryor,  being  all  along  sus 
pected,  has  not  a  customer  left.  He'd  burn  the  town,  now,  if  we 
put  it  into  his  head  !'' 

"Well,  just  now  we  lack  no  such  spirit.  May  not  his  rashness 
prompt  him  to  too  much  speech  ?" 

"  No,  sir ;  that's  the  beauty  of  rebellion  with  old  Pryor.  It 
has  hands  and  a  weapon,  but  it  wants  tongue.  If  he  felt  pain, 
and  was  disposed  to  tell  of  it,  his  teeth  would  resist,  and  grin  down 
the  feeling.  No  fear  of  him  ;  he  talks  too  little  :  and  as  for  blab 
bing,  his  wife  might  lie  close,  and  listen  all  night,  and  his  dreams 
would  be  as  speechless  as  his  humour.  He  locks  up  his  thoughts 
in  close  jaws,  and  at  best,  only  damns  a  bit  when  angered,  and 
walks  off  with  his  hands  in  his  breeches  pocket." 

"  A.  goodly  comrade  for  a  dark  night !  But  let  us  move.  Dusk 
closes  upon  us,  and  we  may  travel  now  with  tolerable  security. 
Our  course  is  for  the  river  ?" 

"  Yes ;  a  hundred  yards  will  take  us  in  sight  of  it,  and  we  keep 
it  the  whole  way.  But  we  must  hug  the  bush,  as  much  out  of 
sight  there  as  if  we  were  upon  the  high-road.  There  are  several 
boats,  chiefly  armed,  upon  it  now  ;  besides  the  galley  which  runs 
up  and  down — some  that  have  brought  supplies  to  the  garrison 
Their  shot  would  be  troublesome  did  they  see  us." 

They  rode  down  the  hill,  entered  a  long  copse,  and  the  river 
wound  quietly  on  its  way  a  little  below  them.  They  were  now  on 
a  line  with  the  fortress  of  Dorchester ;  the  flag  streamed  gaudily 
from  the  staff,  and  they  could  see  through  the  bushes  that  several 
vessels  of  small  burden  were  passing  to  and  fro.  They  sank  back 
again  into  the  woods,  and  kept  on  their  course  in  comparative 
silence,  until,  close  upon  sunset,  they  found  themselves  at  a  few 
hundred  yards  from  "  The  Oaks  ;"  the  spacious  aod  lofty  dwelling 


108  THE    PARTISAN. 

rising  dimly  out  of  the  woods  before  them,  while  from  their  feet 
the  extensive  grounds  of  the  park  spread  away  in  distance  and  final 
obscurity, 

Leaving  them  to  amuse  themselves  as  they  may,  let  us  now  re 
turn  to  the  Cypress  Swamp,  where  we  left  the  wounded  Olough 
under  the  charge  of  the  dragoon  and  negro.  The  injury  he  had 
received,  though  not,  perhaps,  a  fatal  one,  was  yet  serious  enough 
to  render  immediate  attention  highly  important  to  his  safety ;  but 
in  that  precarious  time  surgeons  were  not  readily  to  be  found,  and 
the  Americans,  who  wore  without  money,  were  not  often  indulged 
with  their  services.  The  several  corps  of  the  leading  partisans, 
such  as  Marion,  and  Sumter,  Pickens,  Horry,  ifec.,  fought  daily  in 
the  swamps  and  along  the  highways,  with  the  painful  conviction 
that,  save  by  some  lucky  chance,  their  wounds  must  depend  en 
tirely  upon  nature  to  be  healed.  In  this  way,  simply  through  want 
of  tendance,  hundreds  perished  in  that  warfare  of  privation,  whom, 
with  a  few  simple  specifics,  medical  care  would  have  sent  again 
into  the  combat,  after  a  few  weeks'  nursing,  hearty  and  unimpaired. 
The  present  circumstances  of  dough's  condition  were  not  of  a  cha 
racter  to  lead  him  to  hope  for  a  better  fortune,  and  he  gave  himself 
up  despondingly  to  his  fate,  after  having  made  a  brief  effort  to 
bribe  his  keeper  to  assist  in  his  escape.  But  attendance  was  at 
hand,  if  we  may  so  call  it,  and  after  a  few  hours'  suffering,  the 
approach  of  Doctor  Oakeuburg  was  announced  to  the  patient. 

The  doctor  was  a  mere  culler  of  simples,  a  stuffer  of  birds- and  rep 
tiles,  a  digger  of  roots,  a  bark  and  poultice  doctor — in  other  words, 
a  mere  pretender.  He  was  wretchedly  ignorant  of  every  thing  like 
medical  art,  but  he  had  learned  to  physic.  He  made  beverages 
which,  if  not  always  wholesome,  were,  at  least,  sometimes  far  from 
disagreeable  to  the  country  housewives,  who  frequently  took  the 
nostrum  for  the  sake  of  the  stimulant.  Doctor  Oakenburg  knew 
perfectly  the  want,  if  he  cared  little  for  the  need,  of  his  neigh 
bours  ;  and  duly  heedful  of  those  around  him  who  indulged  in 
pipe  and  tobacco,  he  provided  the  bark  and  the  brandy.  A  few 
bitter  roots  and  herbs  constituted  his  entire  stock  of  medicines; 
and  with  these,  well  armed  at  all  points  and  m-ver  unprovided,  he 
had  worked  out  lor  himself  no  siuull  reputation  in  that  section  of 


THE  VILLAGE  DOCTOK.  109 

country.  But  this  good  fortune  lasted  only  for  a  season.  Some 
of  his  patients  took  their  departure  after  the  established  fashion ; 
some  more  inveterate,  with  that  prejudice  which  distinguishes  the 
bad  subject,  turned  their-eyes  on  rival  remedies;  many  were  scat 
tered  abroad  and  beyond  the  reach  of  our  doctor  by  the  clrin.  <\s 
of  war  ;  and,  with  a  declining  reputation  and  wofully  diminish,  d 
practice,  Oakenburg  was  fain,  though  a  timid  creature,  to  link  liis 
own  with  the  equally  doubtful  fortunes  of  the  partisan  militia. 
This  decision,  after  some  earnest  argument,  and  the  influence  <>i'  ;i 
more  earnest  necessity,  Humphries  at  length  persuaded  him  to 
adopt,  after  having  first  assured  him  of  the  perfect  security  and 
iin harming  character  of  the  warfare  in  which  he  was  required  lo 
engage- 

With  a  dress  studiously  disposed  in  order,  a  head  well  plastered 
\\ith  pomatum,  and  sprinkled  with  the  powder  so  freely  worn  at 
the  time,  a  ragged  frill  carefully  adjusted  upon  his  bosom  to  concea, 
the  injuries  of  time,  and  an  ostentatious  exhibition  of  the  shrunken 
shank,  garnished  at  the  foot  with  monstrous  buckles  that  once 
might  have  passed  for  silver,  Oakenburg  still  persisted  in  exhibit 
ing  as  many  of  the  evidences  of  the  reduced  gentleman  as  he  pos 
sibly  could  preserve.  His  manner  was  tidy,  like  his  dress.  His 
snuff- box  twinkled  for  ever  between  his  fingers,  one  of  which 
seemed  swollen  by  the  monstrous  paste  ring  which  enriched  it ; 
and  his  gait  was  dancing  and  elastic,  as  if  his  toes  had  volunteered 
to  do  all  the  duty  of  his  feet.  His  mode  of  speech,  too,  was  ex 
cessively  finical  and  delicate — the  words  passing  through  his  lips 
with  difficulty ;  for  he  dreaded  to  open  them  too  wide,  lest  certain 
deficiencies  in  his  jaws  should  become  too  conspicuously  notorious. 
These  deficiencies  had  the  farther  effect  of  giving  him  a  lisping 
accent,  which  not  a  little  added  to  the  pretty  delicacies  of  his 
other  features. 

He  passed  through  the  swamp  with  infinite  difficulty,  and  greatly 
to  tli<>  detriment  of  his  shoes  and  stockings.  Hiding  a  small  tfickey 
(a  little,  inconsiderate  animal,  that  loves  the  swamp,  and  is  usually 
burn  and  bred  in  it),  he  was  compelled  continually  to  l>e  on  th« 
look-out  for,  and  defence  against,  the  overhanging  branche*  and 
vines  clustering  about  the  trees,  through  v\  Licit  his  k«rc«,  in  its  ow* 
8* 


1LO  THE    PARTISAN. 

desire  to  clamber  over  the  roots,  continually  and  most  annoyingjy 
bore  him.  In  this  toil  he  was  compelled  to  pay  far  less  attention 
to  his  legs  than  was  due  to  their  well-being,  and  it  was  not  until 
they  were  well  drenched  in  the  various  bogs  through  which  he  had 
gone,  that  he  was  enabled  to  see  how  dreadfully  he  had  neglected 
their  even  elevation  to  the  saddle  skirts — a  precaution  absolutely 
necessary  at  all  times  in  such  places,  but  more  particularly  when 
the  rider  is  tall,  and  mounted  upon  a  short,  squat  animal,  such  as 
our  worthy  doctor  bestrode. 

Dr.  Oakenburg  was  in  the  company — under  the  guidance  in 
fact — of  a  person  whose  appearance  was  in  admirable  contrast, 
with  his  own.  This  was  no  other  than  the  Lieutenant  Porgy,  of 
whom  Humphries  has  already  given  us  an  account.  If  Oakenburg 
was  as  lean  as  the  Knight  of  La  Mancha,  Porgy  was  quite  as  stout 
as  Sancho — a  shade  stouter  perhaps,  as  his  own  height  was  not 
inconsiderable,  yet  showed  him  corpulent  still.  At  a  glance  you 
saw  that  he  was  a  jovial  philosopher — one  who  enjoyed  his  bottle 
with  his  humours,  and  did  not  suffer  the  one  to  be  soured  by  the 
other.  It  was  clear  that  he  loved  all  the  good  things  of  this  life, 
and  some  possibly  that  we  may  not  call  good  with  sufficient  rea 
son.  His  abdomen  and  brains  seemed  to  work  together.  lff> 
thought  of  eating  perpetually,  and,  while  he  ate,  still  thought. 
But  he  was  not  a  mere  eater.  He  rather  amused  himself  with  a 
hobby  when  he  made  food  his  topic,  as  Falstaff  discoursed  of  his 
own  cowardice  without  feeling  it.  He  was  'a  wag,  and  exercised 
his  wit  with  whomsoever  he  travelled ;  Doctor  Oakenburg,  on  the 
present  occasion,  offering  himself  as  an  admirable  subject  for  vic 
timization.  To  quiz  the  doctor  was  Porgy 's  recipe  against  the 
tedium  of  a  swamp  progress,  and  the  fertile  humours  of  the  wag 
perpetually  furnished  him  occasions  for  the  exercise  of  his  faculty. 
But  we  shall  hear  more  of  him  in  future  pages,  and  prefer  that  he 
shall  speak  on  most  occasions  for  himself.  He  was  attended  by  a 
negro  body  servant — a  fellow  named  Tom,  and  of  humours  al 
most  as  keen  and  lively  as  his  own.  Tom  was  a  famous  cook,  after 
the  fashion  of  the  southern  planters,  who  could  win  his  way  to 
your  affections  through  his  soups,  and  need  no  other  argument. 
He  was  one  of  that  class  of  faithful,  half-spoiled  negroes,  who  will 


1'KRFECT   SECURITY.  Ill 

v.e»e>  suffer  any  liberties  with  bis  master,  except  such  as  he  takes 
himse/f.  He,  too,  is  a  person  who  will  need  to  occupy  a  consider 
able  place  in  our  regards,  particularly  as, in  his  instance,  as  well  as 
that  of  his  master — to  say  nothing  of  other  persons — we  draw  our 
portraits  from  actual  life. 

Porjjy  was  a  good  looking  it-How,  spite  of  his  mammoth  dimen 
sions.  He  had  a  fine  fresh  manly  face,  clear  complexion,  and 
light  blue  eye,  the  archness  of  which  was  greatly  heightened  by  its 
comparative  littleness.  it  was  a  sight  to  provoke  a  smile  on  the 
face  of  Mentor,  to  see  those  little  blue  eyes  twinkling  with  treache 
rous  light  as  he  watched  Doctor  Oakenburg  plunging  from  pool 
to  pool  under  his  false  guidance,  and  condoling  with  him  after. 
The  doctor,  in  fact,  in  his  present  situation  and  imperfect  experi 
ence,  could  not  have  been  spared  his  disasters.  He  was  too  little 
of  an  equestrian  not  to  feel  the  necessity,  while  battling  with  his 
brute  for  their  mutual  guidance,  of  keeping  his  pendulous  members 
carefully  balanced  on  each  side,  to  prevent  any  undue  preponder 
ance  of  one  over  the  other — a  predicament  of  which  he  had  much 
seeming  apprehension.  In  the  mean  time,  the  lively  great-bodied 
and  -Treat-bellied  man  who  rode  beside  him  chuckled  incontinently, 

O  •   7 

though  in  secret.  He  pretended  great  care  of  his  companion,  and 
advised  him  to  sundry  changes  of  direction,  all  for  the  worse,  which 
the  worthy  doctor  in  his  tribulation  did  not  scruple  to  adopt. 

"  Ah  !  Lieutenant  Porgy,"  said  he,  complaining,  though  in  his 
most  mincing  manner,  as  they  reached  a  spot  of  dry  land,  upon 
which  they  stopped  for  a  moment's  rest — "  ah  !  Lieutenant  Porgy 
this  is  but  unclean  travelling,  and  full  too  of  various  peril.  At  one 
moment  I  did  hear  a  plunging,  dashing  sound  in  the  pond  beside 
aie,  which  it  came  to  my  thought  was  an  alligator — one  of  those 
monstrous  reptiles  that  are  hurtful  to  children,  and  even  to  men." 

"  Ay,  doctor,  and  make  no  bones  of  whipping  off  a  thigh-bone, 
>r  at  least  a  leg :  and  you  have  been  in  danger  more  than  once 
o-day." 

The  doctor  looked  down  most  svofully  at  his  besmeared  pedes 
tals;  and  the  shudder  which  went  over  his  whole  frame  was  per 
ceptible  to  his  companion,  whose  chuckle  it  increased  proportion- 
»bly. 


I1. 2  THE   PARTISAN. 

"  And  yet,  Lieutenant  Porgy,"  said  he,  looking  round  him  witk  a 
moct  wo-begone  apprehension — "yet  did  our  friend  Humphries 
assure  me  that  our  new  occupation   was  one  of  perfect  security. 
'  Perfect  security'  were  the  precise  words  he  used  wlieu  he  conn 
selled  me  to  this  undertaking." 

"Perfect  security!1'  said  Porgy,  and  the  man  laughed  out  aloud. 
"  Why,  doctor,  look  there  at  the  snake  winding  over  the  bank  be 
fore  you — look  at  that,  and  then  talk  of  perfect  security." 

The  doctor  turned  his  eyes  to  the  designated  point,  and  beheld 
the  long  and  beautiful  volumes  of  the  beaded  snake,  as  slowly 
crossing  their  path  with  his  pack  of  linked  jewels  full  iu  their 
view,  he  wound  his  way  from  one  bush  into  another,  and  gradually 
folded  himself  up  out  of  sight.  The  doctor,  however,  was  not  to 
be  alarmed  by  this  survey.  He  had  a  passion  for  snakes ;  and 
admiration  suspended  all  his  fear,  as  he  gazed  upon  the  beautiful 
and  not  dangerous  reptile. 

"  Now  would  I  rejoice,  Lieutenant  Porgy,  were  yon  serpent  iu 
my  poor  cabinet  at  Dorchester.  He  would  greatly  beautify  my 
collection."  And  as  the  man  of  simples  spoke,  he  gazed  on  the 
retiring  snake  with  envying  eye. 

"  Well,  doctor,  get  down  and  chunk  it.  If  it's  worth  having,  it's 
worth  killing." 

"  True,  Lieutenant  Porgy ;  but  it  would  be  greatly  detrimental 
to  my  shoes  to  alight  iu  such  a  place  as  this,  for  the  thick  mud 
would  adhere — 

"  Ay,  and  so  would  you,  doctor — you'd  stick — but  not  the 
snake.  But  come,  don't  stand  looking  after  the  bush,  if  you  won't 
go  into  it.  You  can  get  snakes  enough  in  the  swamp — ay,  and 
without  much  seeking.  The  place  is  full  of  them." 

"This  of  a  certainty,  Lieutenant  Porgy?  know  you  this?" 

"  Ay,  T  know  it  of  my  own  knowledge.  You  can  see  them 
here  almost  any  hour  in  the  day,  huddled  up  like  a  coil  of  ropa 
on  the  edge  of  the  tussock,  and  looking  down  at  their  own  pretty 
figures  in  the  water." 

•'  And  you  think  the  serpent  has  vanity  of  his  person  ? "  inquired 
the  doctor,  r-ravely. 

"Think — I  don't  think  about  it,  doctor — I  know  it,"  replied  tLf 


SOLD1EK3  APT  TO   BE   DANGEROUS.  113 

other,  confidently.  "  And  it  stands  to  reason,  you  see,  that  where 
there  is  beauty  and  brightness  there  must  be  self-love  and  vanity. 
It's  a  poor  fool  that  don't  know  his  own  possessions." 

"  There  is  truly  some  reason,  Lieutenant  Porgy,  in  what  you 
have  said  touching  this  matter;  and  the  instinct  is  a  correct  one 
which  teaches  the  serpent,  such  as  that  which  we  have  just  seen, 
to  look  iuto  the  stream  as  one  of  the  other  sex  into  a  mirror,  to  see 
that  its  jewels  are  not  displaced,  and  that  its  motion  may  not  be 
awry,  but  graceful.  There  is  reason  in  it." 

"  And  truth.  But  we  are  nigh  our  quarters,  and  here  is  a  sol 
dier  waiting  us." 

"  A  soldier,  squire ! — he  is  friendly,  perhaps  ? " 
*  The  manner  of  the  phrase  was  interrogatory,  and  Porgy  replied 
with  his  usual  chuckle. 

"  Ay,  ay,  friendly  enough,  though  dangerous,  if  vexed.  See 
what  a  sword  he  carries — and  those  pistols !  I  would  not  risk 
much,  doctor,  to  say,  there  are  no  less  than  sixteen  buckshot  in 
each  of  those  barkers." 

"  My  !  you  don't  say  so,  lieutenant.  Yet  did  William  Hum 
phries  say  to  me  that  the  duty  was  to  be  done  in  perfect  security." 

The  last  sentence  fell  from  the  doctor's  lips  in  a  sort  of  comment 
to  himself,  but  his  companion  replied — 

"Ay,  security  as  perfect,  doctor,  as  war  will  admit  of.  You 
talk  of  perfect  security  :  there  is  no  such  thing — no  perfect  secur 
ity  any  where — and  but  little  security  of  any  kind  until  dinner's 
well  over.  I  feel  the  uncertainty  of  life  till  then.  Then,  indeed, 
we  may  know  as  much  security  as  life  knows.  We  have,  at  least, 
secured  what  secures  life.  We  may  laugh  at  danger  then ;  and  if 
we  must  meet  it,  why,  at  least  we  shall  not  be  compelled  to  meet 
it  in  that  worst  condition  of  all — an  empty  stomach.  I  am  a  true 
Englishman  in  that,  though  they  do  call  me  a  rebel.  I  feel  my 
origin  only  when  eating ;  and  am  never  so  well  disposed  towards 
the  enemy  as  when  I'm  engaged,  tooth  and  nail,  in  that  savoury 
occupation,  and  with  roast-beef.  Would  that  we  had  some  of  it 
now ! " 

The  glance  of  Oakenburg,  yho  was  wretchedly  spare  and  lank, 
looked  something  of  disgust  as  he  heard  this  speech  of  the  gouj> 


114  THE    PARTISAN. 

rnand,  and  listened  to  the  smack  of  his  lips  with  which  he  con 
eluded  it. 

lie  had  no  taste  for  corpulence,  and  probably  this  was  one  of 
the  silent  impulses  which  taught  him  to  admire  the  gaunt  and 
attenuated  form  of  the  snake.  Porgy  did  not  heed  his  expression 
of  countenance,  but  looking  up  overhead  where  the  sun  stood  just 
!il>ove  them  peering  down  imperfectly  through  the  close  umbrage, 
lie  exclaimed  to  the  soldier,  while  pushing  his  horse  through  the 
cceek  which  separated  them — 

"  Hark  you,  VVilkins,  boy,  is  it  not  high  time  to  feed?  Horse  and 
man — man  and  horse,  boy,  all  hungry  and  athirst." 

"  We  shall  find  a  bite  for  you,  lieutenant,  before  long— but 
here's  a  sick  man  the  doctor  must  see  to  at  once :  he's  in  a  miglUy 
bad  way,  I  tell  you." 

'•  A  sick  man,  indeed  !"  and  the  doctor,  thrusting  his  hands  into 
his  pocket,  drew  forth  a  bottle  filled  with  a  dark  thick  liquid, 
which  he  shook  violently  until  it  gathered  into  a  foam  upon  the 
surface.  Armed  with  this,  he  approached  the  little  bark  shanty 
under  which  reposed  the  form  of  the  wounded  Clough. 

"You  are  hurt,  worthy  sir?"  said  the  mediciner,  inquiringly  ; 
"  you  have  not  been  in  a  condition  of  perfect  security — such  as 
lite  requires.  But  lie  quiet,  I  pray  you ;  be  at  ease,  while  I  look 
into  your  injuries,"  said  the  doctor,  condolingly,  and  proceeded  to 
the  outstretched  person  of  the  wounded  man  with  great  delibera 
tion. 

"  You  need  not  look  very  far — here  they  are,"  cried  Clough, 
faintly,  but  peevishly,  in  reply,  as  he  pointed  to  the  wound  in  his 
hide. 

The  doctor  looked  at  the  spot,  shook  his  head,  clapped  ;>n  a 
plaster  of  pine  gum,  and  administered  a  dose  of  his  nostrum,  which 
the  patient  gulped  at  prodigiously,  and  then  telling  him  he  would 
do  well,  repeated  his  order  to  lie  quiet  and  say  nothing.  Hurry 
ing  away  to  his  saddle-bags  after  this  had  been  done,  with  the 
utmost  despatch  he  drew  forth  a  pair  of  monstrous  leggings,  which 
he  bandaged  carefully  around  his  shrunken  shanks.  In  a  moment 
after  he  was  upon  his  tackey,  armed  with  a  stick,  and  hastening 
bftek  npou  the  route  he  had  just  prised  u\cr. 


ASSASSINATION.  115 

Porgy,  who  was  busy  urging  the  negro  cook  in  the  preparation 
of  his  dinner,  cried  out  to  the  dealer  of  similes,  but  received  no 
answer.  The  doctor  liad  no  thought  but  of  the  snake  he  had 
seen,  for  whose  conquest  and  capture  he  had  now  set  forth,  with 
all  the  appetite  of  a  boy  after  adventures,  and  all  the  anxiety  of  an 
inveterate  naturalist,  to  get  at  the  properties  of  the  object  ho  pur 
sued.  Meanwhile  the  new  comer,  Porgy,  had  considerably  diverted 
the  thought  of  the  trooper  from  attention  to  his  charge  ;  and  laying 
down  his  sabre  between  them,  the  sentinel  threw  himself  along  the 
ground  where  Porgy  had  already  stretched  himself,  and  a  little 
lively  chat  and  good  company  banished  from  his  mind,  for  a  sea 
son,  the  consideration  of  his  prisoner. 

His  neglect  furnished  an  opportunity  long  watched  and  waited 
for  by  another.  The  shanty  in  which  Clough  lay  stood  on  the  edge 
of  the  island,  and  was  one  of  those  simple  structures  which  the 
Indian  makes  in  his  huntings.  A  stick  rested  at  either  end 
between  the  crotch  of  a  tree,  and  small  saplings,  leaning  against 
it  on  one  side,  were  covered  with  broad  flakes  of  the  pine  bark.  A 
few  bushes,  piled  up  partially  in  front,  completed  the  structure, 
which  formed  no  bad  sample  of  the*  mode  of  hatting  it,  winter  and 
summer,  in  the  swamps  and  forests  of  the  South,  by  the  partisan 
warriors.  In  the  rear  of  the  fabric  stood  a  huge  cypress,  from  the 
hollow  of  which,  at  the  moment  when  the  sentinel  and  Porgy 
seemed  most  diverted,  a  man  might  have  been  seen  approaching, 
lie  cautiously  wound  along  on  all-fours,  keeping  as  much  out  of 
sight  as  possible,  until  he  reached  the  back  of  the  hut;  then  lifting 
from  the  saplings  a  couple  of  the  largest  pieces  of  bark  which 
covered  them,  he  introduced  his  body  without  noise  into  the  tene 
ment  of  the  wounded  man. 

Clough  was  in  a  stupor — a  half-dozy  consciousness  was  upon 
him — and  he  muttered  something  to  the  intruder,  though  without 
any  lixed  object.  The  man  replied  not.  but  approa'-hin.,'  clo>elv.  put 
his  hand  upon  the  bandagings  of  the  wound,  drawing  ilicm  ^cniiv 
aside.  The  first  distinct  perception  which  the  prisoner  had  of  hi* 
situation  was  the  agonizing  sense  of  a  new  wound,  as  of  some 
sharp  \vetpou  driven  directly  into  the  passage  made  by  the  old 
sue.  He  writhed  under  the  instrument  as  it  slanted  deeper  and 


116  THE   PARTISAN. 

deeper  into  his  vitals ;  but  he  had  not  strength  to  resist,  and  bat 
little  to  cry  out.  He  would  have  done  so ;  but  the  sound  tad 
scarcely  risen  to  his  lips,  when  the  murderer  thrust  a  tuft  of  grass 
into  his  mouth  and  stifled  all  complaint.  The  knife  went  deeper — 
the  whole  frame  of  the  assailant  was  upon  it,  and  all  motion 
ceased  on  the  part  of  the  sufferer  with  the  single  groan  and  dis 
torted  writhing  which  followed  the  last  agony.  In  a  moment  after, 
the  stranger  had  departed  by  the  way  he  came ;  and  it  was  not  till 
he  had  reached  the  thick  swamp  around,  that  the  fearful  laugh  of 
the  maniac,  Frampton — for  it  was  he — announced  the  success 
of  his  new  effort  at  revenge. 

The  laugh  reached  Porgy  and  the  dragoon — they  heard  the 
groan  also,  but  that  was  natural  enough.  Nothing  short  of  abso 
lute  necessity  could  have  moved  either  of  them  at  that  moment — 
the  former  being  busied  with  a  rasher  of  bacon  and  a  hoe-cake 
hot  from  the  fire,  and  the  latter  indulging  in  an  extra  swig  of 
brandy  from  a  canteen  which  Porgy,  with  characteristic  provi 
dence,  had  brought  well  filled  along  with  him. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

"  Now,  this  were  sorry  wisdom,  to  pernuad* 
My  sword  to  mine  own  throat.     If  I  must  out, 
Why  should  I  out  upon  mine  ancient  friend 
And  spare  mine  enemy  ?" 

u  THE  OAKS,"  the  dwelling-place  of  Colonel  Walton,  was  one 
of  those  antique  residences  of  the  Carolina  planters  to  which,  at 
this  day,  there  attaches  a  sort  of  historical  interest.  A  thousand 
local  traditions  hang  around  them — a  thousand  stories  of  the  olden 
time,  and  of  its  associations  of  peril  and  adventure.  The  estate 
funned  one  of  the  frontier-plantations  upon  the  Ashley,  and  was 
the  site  of  a  colonial  barony.  It  had  stood  sieges  of  the  Indians 
in  the  wars  of  the  Edistoes  and  Yemassees  ;  and,  from  a  block 
house  station  at  first,  it  had  grown  to  be  an  elegant  mansion, 
improved  in  European  style,  remarkable  for  the  length  and  deep 
shade  of  its  avenues  of  solemn  oak,  its  general  grace  of  arrange 
ment,  and  the  lofty  and  considerate  hospitality  of  its  proprietors. 
Such,  from  its  first  foundation  to  the  period  of  which  we  speak, 
had  been  its  reputation  ;  and  in  no  respect  did  the  present  owner 
depart  from  the  good  tastes  and  the  frank,  manly  character  of  his 
ancestors. 

Colonel  Richard  Walton  was  a  gentleman  in  every  sense  of  the 
word  ;  simple  of  manner,  unpretending,  unobtrusive,  and  always 
considerate,  he  was  esteemed  and  beloved  by  all  around  him.  Born 
to  the  possession  of  large  estates,  his  mind  had  been  exercised 
happily  by  education  and  travel  ;  and  at  the  beginning  of  the 
revolutionary  struggle,  he  had  been  early  found  to  advocate  the 
claims  of  his  native  colony.  At  the  commencement  of  the  war 
he  commanded  a  party  of  horse,  and  had  been  concerned  in  some 
of  the  operations  against  Prevost,  in  the  rapid  foray  which  that 
general  made  into  Carolina.  When  Charleston  fell  before  the  arma 


118  THK    PARTISAN. 

»f  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  overawed  as  was  the  entire  country  beiow 
the  Santee  by  the  immediate  presence  in  force  of  the  British  army, 
he  had  tendered  his  submission  along  with  the  rest  of  the  inhabit 
ants,  despairing  of  any  better  fortune.  The  specious  offers  of 
amnesty  made  by  Clinton  and  Arbuthnot,  in  the  character  of  com 
missioners  for  restoring  peace  to  the  revolted  colonies,  and  which 
called  for  nothing  but  neutrality  from  the  inhabitants,  had  ;!;<• 
effect  of  deceiving  him,  in  common  with  his  neighbours.  Nor  \\.\:\ 
this  submission  so  partial  as  we  have  been  taught  to  think  it.  To 
the  southward  of  Charleston,  the  militia,  without  summons,  sent  in 
a  flag  to  the  British  garrison  at  Beaufort,  and  made  their  submis 
sion.  At  Camden,  the  inhabitants  negotiated  their  own  terms  ;>( 
repose.  In  Ninety-Six  the  submission  was  the  same  ;  and,  indeed. 
with  the  exception  of  the  mountainous  borders,  which  were  unin- 
vaded,  and  heard  only  faint  echoes  of  the  conflict  from  afar,  all 
show  of  hostility  ceased  throughout  the  colony — the  people,  gene 
rally,  seeming  to  prefer  quiet  on  any  terms  to  a  resistance  which, 
at  that  moment  of  despondency,  seemed  worse  than  idle. 

This  considerate  pliability  secured  Walton,  as  it  was  thought,  in 
all  the  immunities  of  the  citizen,  without  subjecting  him  to  any 
of  those  military  duties  which,  in  other  respects,  his  majesty  had 
A  perfect  right  to  call  for  from  his  loyal  subjects.  Such,  certainly, 
were  the  pledges  of  the  British  commanders — pledges  made  with 
little  reflection,  or  with  designed  subterfuge,  and  violated  with  as 
little  hesitation.  They  produced  the  effect  desired,  in  persuading 
to  easy  terms  of  arrangement  the  people  who  might  not,  have  been 
conquered  but  with  great  difficulty.  Once  disarmed  and  divided, 
they  were  more  easily  overcome  ;  and  it  was  not  long,  after  the 
first  object  had  been  obtained,  before  measures  were  adopted  well 
calculated  to  effect  the  other. 

Colonel  Walton,  though  striving  hard  to  convince  himself  of 
the  propriety  of  the  course  which  he  had  taken,  remained  still 
unsatisfied.  He  could  not  be  assured  of  the  propriety  of  submis 
sion  when  he  beheld,  as  he  did  hourly,  the  rank  oppression  and 
injustice  by  which  the  conquerors  strove  to  preserve  their  ascend 
ency  over  the  doubtful,  while  exercising  it  wantonly  among  the 
weak.  He  could  not  but  see  how  uncertain  was  the  tenure  of  hia 


COLONEL    WALTON.  119 

own  hold  upon  the  invaders,  whom  nothing  seemed  to  bind  in  the 
uliape  of  solemn  obligation.  The  promised  protection  was  that  of 
the  wolf,  and  not  the  guardian  dog ;  it  destroyed  its  charge,  and 
not  its  enemy  ;  find  strove  to  ravage  whore  il  promised  to  secure- 
As  yet,  it  is  true,  none  of  these  ills,  in  a  direct  form,  had  fallen 
iij>on  Colonel  Walton  ;  he  had  suffered  no  abuses  in  his  own  per- 
bi.-n  or  family  ;  on  the  contrary,  such  were  his  wealth  and  influ 
ence,  that  it  had  been  thought  not  unwise,  on  the  part  of  the  con 
querors,  to  conciliate  and  soothe  him.  Still,  the  colonel  could  not 
by  insensible  to  the  gradual  approaches  of  tyranny.  He  was  not 
an  unreflecting  man  ;  and  as  he  saw  the  wrongs  done  to  others, 
his  eyes  became  duly  open  to  the  doubtful  value  of  his  own  secur 
ities,  whenever  the  successes  of  the  British  throughout  the  state 
should  have  become  so  general  as  to  make  them  independent  o. 
any  individual  influence.  So  thinking,  his  mind  gave  a  new  stimu 
lus  to  his  conscience,  which  now  refused  its  sanction  to  the  decision 
which,  in  a  moment  of  emergency  and  dismay,  he  had  been  per 
suaded  to  adopt.  His  sympathies  were  too  greatly  with  the  op 
pressed,  and  their  sufferings  were  too  immediately  under  his  own 
eyes,  lo  permit  of  this;  and  sad  with  the  consciousness  of  hia 
error — and  the  more  so  as  he  esteemed  it  now  irremediable — vexed 
with  his  momentary  weakness,  and  apprehensive  of  the  future — 
his  mind  grew  sullen  with  circumstances — his  spirits  sank;  and, 
gradually  withdrawing  from  all  the  society  around  him,  he  solaced 
himself  in  his  family  mansion  with  the  small  circle  which  widow 
hood,  and  other  privations  of  time,  had  spared  him.  Nor  did  his 
grief  pass  without  some  alleviation  in  the  company  of  his  daughter 
Katharine—  she,  the  high-born,  the  beautiful,  the  young — the  admi 
ration  of  her  neighbourhood,  revelling  in  power,  yet  seemingly  all 
unconscious  qf  its  sway.  The  rest  of  his  family  in  this  retirement 
consisted  of  a  maiden  sister,  and  a  niece,  Emily  Singleton,  whom, 
but  a  short  time  before,  he  had  brought  from  Santee,  in  the  hop« 
that  a  change  of  air  might  be  of  benefit  to  that  life  which  she  held 
by  a  tenure  the  most  fleeting  and  capricious. 

He  saw  but  few  persons  besides.  Studiously  estranging  him 
self,  he  had  no  visitors,  unless  we  may  except  the  occasional  callt 
«f  the  commanding-  officer  of  the  British  post  at  Dorchester.  TLii 


.20  THE   PARTISAN. 

visitor,  to  Colonel  Walton,  appeared  only  as  one  doing  an  appointed 
duty,  and  exercising,  during  these  visits,  that  kind  of  surveillance 
over  the  people  of  the  country  which  seemed  to  be  called  for  by 
his  position.  Major  Proctor  had  another  object  in  his  visits  to 
"  The  Oaks."  He  sought  to  ingratiate  himself  in  the  favour  of 
the  father,  on  account  of  his  lovely  daughter ;  and  to  the  charms 
of  one,  rather  than  the  political  feelings  of  the  other,  were  the 
eyes  of  the  British  officer  properly  addressed.  Katharine  was  not 
ignorant  of  her  conquest,  for  Proctor  made  no  efforts  to  conceal 
the  impression  which  she  had  made  upon  his  heart.  The  maiden, 
however,  gave  him  but  small  encouragement.  She  gloried  in  the 
name  of  a  rebel  lady,  and  formed  one  of  that  beautiful  array,  so 
richly  shining  in  the  story  of  Carolina,  who,  defying  danger,  and 
heedless  of  privation,  spoke  boldly  in  encouragement  to  those  who 
yet  continued  to  struggle  for  its  liberties.  She  did  not  conceal 
her  sentiments  ;  and  whatever  may  have  been  the  personal  attrac 
tions  of  Major  Proctor,  they  were  wanting  in  force  to  her  mind, 
as  she  associated  him  with  her  own  and  the  enemies  of  her  coun 
try.  Her  reception  of  her  suitor  was  coldly  courteous ;  and  that 
which  her  father  gave  him,  though  always  studiously  considerate 
and  gentle,  Proctor,  at  the  same  time,  could  not  avoid  perceiving 
was  constrained  and  frigid — quite  unlike  the  warm  and  familiar 
hospitality  which  otherwise  marked  and  still  marks,  even  to  this 
aay,  the  gentry  of  that  neighbourhood. 

It  was  drawing  to  a  close — that  day  of  events  in  the  history  of 
our  little  squad  of  partisans  whose  dwelling  was  the  Cypress  Swamp. 
Humphries,  who  had  engaged  to  meet  Major  Singleton  with  some 
necessary  intelligence  from  Dorchester,  was  already  upon  his  way 
to  the  place  of  meeting,  and  had  just  passed  out  of  sight  of  Ash 
ley  River,  when  he  heard  the  tramp  of  horses  moving  over  the 
bridge,  and  on  the  same  track  with  himself.  He  sank  into  cover 
as  they  passed,  and  beheld  Major  Proctor  and  a  Captain  Dickson, 
both  on  station  at  the  garrison,  on  their  way  to  "  The  Oaks." 
Humphries  allowed  them  to  pass;  then  renewing  his  ride,  soon 
effected  the  meeting  with  Major  Singleton.  As  we  have  already 
seen,  their  object  was  "Th«  Oaks"  also;  but  the  necessity  of 
avoiding  a  meeting  with  th«  British  offia«rs  was  obvious,  and 


MAJOR    PROCTOR.  121 

kept  close  in  the  wood,  leaving  the  grown!  entirely  to  tlnir  oppo 
nents. 

Though,  as  we  have  said,  rather  a  frequent  visitor  at  "  Tha 
Oaks,"  the  present  ride  of  Major  Proctor  in  that  quarter  had  ita 
usual  stimulus  dashed  somewhat  by  the  sense  of  the  business  which 
occasioned  it.  Its  discharge  was  a  matter  of  no  little  annoyance 
to  the  Englishman,  who  was  not  less  sensitive  and  generous  than 
brave.  It  was  for  the  purpose  of  imparting  to  Colonel  Walton,  in 
person,  the  contents  of  that  not  yet  notorious  proclamation  of  Sir 
Henry  Clinton,  with  which  he  demanded  the  performance  of  mili 
tary  duty  from  the  persons  who  had  been  paroled  ;  and  by  means 
of  which,  on  departing  from  the  province,  he  planted  the  seeds  of 
that  revolting  patriotism  which  finally  overthrew  the  authority  he 
fondly  imagined  himself  to  have  successfully  re-established. 

Colonel  Walton  received  his  guests  with  his  accustomed  urbanity: 
was  alone  when  he  received  them;  and  the  eyes  of  Proctor  looked 
round  the  apartment  inquiringly,  but  in  vain,  as  if  he  desired 
another  presence.  His  host  understood  the  glance  perfectly,  for 
he  had  not  been  blind  to  the  frequent  evidences  of  attachment 
which  his  visitor  had  shown  towards  his  daughter  ;  but  he  took  no 
heed  of  it;  and,  with  a  lofty  reserve  of  manner,  which,  greatly 
added  to  the  awkwardness  of  the  commission  which  the  English 
man  came  to  execute,  he  simply  confined  himself  to  the  occasional 
remark — such  only  as  was  perfectly  unavoidable  with  one  with 
whom  politeness  was  habitual,  and  the  predominant  feeling  at 
variance  with  it,  the  result  of  a  calm  and  carefully  regulated  princi 
ple.  It  was  only  with  a  steady  resolution,  at  last,  that  Proctor 
was  enabled  to  bring  his  conversation  into  any  thing  like  con 
sistency  and  order.  He  commenced,  despairing  of  any  better 
opening,  with  the  immediate  matter  which  he  had  in  hand. 

"Colonel  Walton  does  not  now  visit  Dorchester  so  frequently  ai 
usual,  nor  does  he  often  travel  so  far  as  the  city.  May  I  ask  if  h« 
has  heard  any  late  intelligence  of  moment." 

Walton  looked  inquiringly  at  his  guest,  as  if  to  gather  frona 
his  features  something  of  that  intelligence  which  his  words  seemed 
to  presage.  But  the  expression  was  unsatisfactory — perhap»  that 
o!  care — so  Walton  thought,  sud  it  ?at«  him  a  hop*  of 


122  THE    PARTISAN. 

better  fortune  for  his  country  than  had  usually  attended  its  arnu 
heretofore. 

"I  have  not,  sir;  1  ride  but  little  now,  and  have  uot  been  in 
Dorchester  for  a  week.  Of  what  intelligence  do  you  speak,  sir  ?" 

"The  proclamation  of  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  sir — his  proclamation 
on  the  subject  of  protections  granted  to  the  militia  of  the  province, 
those  excepted  made  prisoners  in  Charleston." 

Colonel  Walton  looked  dubious,  but  still  coldly,  and  without  a 
word,  awaited  the  conclusion  of  Proctor's  statement.  But  the 
speaker  paused  for  a  moment,  and  when  he  again  spoke,  the  sub 
ject  seemed  to  have  been  somewhat  changed. 

"  I  am  truly  sorry,  Colonel  Walton,  that  it  has  not  been  hereto 
fore  in  your  power  to  sympathize  more  freely  and  openly  with  his 
majesty's  arms  in  this  warfare  against  his  rebellious  subjects." 

"  Stay,  sir,  if  you  please :  these  subjects,  of  whom  your  phrase 
is  rather  unscrupulous,  are  my  relatives  and  countrymen ;  and 
their  sentiments  on  this  rebellion  have  been  and  are  my  own,  though 
1  have  adopted  the  expedient  of  a  stern  necessity,  and  in  this 
have  suspended  the  active  demonstration  of  principles  which  I  am 
nevertheless  in  no  haste  to  forget,  and  do  not  suppress." 

"Pardon  me,  sir;  you  will  do  me  the  justice  to  believe  I  mean 
nothing  of  offence.  However  erring  your  thought,  I  must  respect 
it  as  honest ;  but  this  respect  does  not  forbid  that  T  should  lament 
such  a  misfortune — a  misfortune,  scarcely  less  so  to  his  majesty  than 
to  you.  It  is  my  sincere  regret  that  you  have  heretofore  found  it 
less  than  agreeable  to  uni;e  your  arms  with  those  of  our  army  in 
the  arrest  of  this  unnatural  struggle.  The  commission  proffered 
you  by  Sir  Henry — " 

"  Was  rejected,  Major  Proctor,  and  my  opinions  then  jairly  avowed 
and  .seemingly  respected.  No  reference  now  to  that  subject  need 
be  made  by  either  of  us." 

"  Yet  am  I  called  upon  to  make  it  now,  Colonel  Walton ;  and  I 
do  so  with  a  hope  that  what  is  my  duty  will  not  lose  me,  by  its 
performance,  the  regard  of  him  to  whom  I  speak.  I  am  counselled 
to  remind  you,  sir,  of  that  proposition  by  the  present  commander- 
iu-chief  of  his  majesty's  forces  in  the  South,  Earl  Cornwallis. 
lite  pouiaiutUioa  of  Sir  H*ury  Ciiutoo  to  wuici>  I  iiav<* 


R 1 ;  t  T  J  S  J '    F  ROC  I ,  A  M  ATI  OX .  1 2  3 

ic  i»f  such  a  nature  as  opens  fresh  ground  for  the  renewal  of  that 
offer  ;  and  in  this  packet  I  have  instructions  to  that  end,  with  a 
formal  enclosure  of  seal  and  signature,  from  his  excellency  himself, 
which  covers  the  commission  to  you,  sir,  in  your  full  rank,  a? 
engaged  in  the  rebel  army." 

"  You  will  keep  it,  sir;  again  it  is  rejected.  I  cannot  lift  arm* 
against  my  countrymen  ;  and  though  1  readily  understand  the 
necessity  which  requires  you  to  make  the  tender,  you  will  permit 
me  to  say,  that  I  hold  it  only  an  equivocal  form  of  insult." 

''  Which,  I  again  repeat,  Colonel  Walton,  is  foreign  to  ail 
intention  on  the  part  of  the  Commander-in-chief.  For  myself,  1 
surely  need  make  no  such  attestation.  Me,  sir,  is  persuaded  to  the 
offer  simply  as  he  knows  your  worth  and  influence— he  would 
secure  your  co-operation  in  the  good  cause  of  loyalty,  and  at  the 
same  time  would  soften  what  may  seem  the  harsh  features  of  this 
proclamation." 

"  And  what  is  this  proclamation,  sir  ?  Let  me  hear  that :  the  mat 
ter  has  been  somewhat  precipi  lately  discussed  in  advance  of  the  text.' 

"  Surely,  sir."  said  Proctor,  eagerly,  as  the  language  of  Colonel 
Walton's  last  remarks'  left  a  hope  in  his  mind  that  he  might,  think 
differently,  on  the  perusal  of  the  document,  which  he  now  took 
from  the  hands  of  his  companion,  Dickson — "surely,  sir,  and  I 
hope  yon  will  reconsider  the  resolve  which  I  cannot  help  thinking 
precipitately  made." 

The  listener  simply  bowed  his  head,  and  motioned  the  other  t«- 
pioceed.  Proctor  obeyed  ;  and.  unfolding  the  instrument,  proceeded 
to  convey  its  contents  to  the  ears  of  the  astonished  Carolinian. 
As  he  read,  the  cheek  of  Colonel  Walton  glowed  like  fire — his  eye 
kindled— his  pulsation  increased — and  when  the  insidious  decree, 
calling  upon  him  to  *»»">ne  the  arms  which  he  had  cast  aside  when 
his  country  needed  ,<iem.  and  lift  them  in  behalf  of  her  enernie*, 
was  fairly  comprehended  by  his  sense,  his  feelings  had  reached  that 
climax  which  despaired  of  all  utterance,  lie  started  abruptly  from 
his  seat,  and  paced  the  room  in  strong  emotion  ;  then  suddenly 
approaching  Proctor,  he  took  the  paper  from  his  hand,  and  read  it 
with  unwavering  attention.  For  a  few  moment*  after  he  had  been 
hilly  possessed  of  its  content*,  he  Hiade  no  remark;  Uien,  wifch  a 


124  THE    PARTISAN. 

strong  effort,  suppressing  as  much  -is  possible  *is  aroused  feelings, 
he  addressed  the  Briton  in  tones  of  inquiry  which  left  it  doubtful 
what,  in  reality,  those  feelings  were. 

"  And  you  desire  that  I  should  embrace  this  commission,  Major 
Proctor,  which,  if  I  understand  it,  gives  me  command  in  a  service 
which  this  proclamation  is'to  insist  upon  —  am  T  right?" 

"  It  is  so,  sir  ;  you  are  right.  Here  is  a  colonel's  commission 
under  his  majesty,  with  power  to  appoint  your  own  officers.  Most 
gladly  would  I  place  it  in  your  hands." 

"  Sir  —  Major  Proctor,  this  is  the  rankest  villany  —  villany  and 
falsehood.  By  what  right,  sir,  does  Sir  Henry  Clinton  call  upon 
us  for  military  service,  when  his  terms  of  protection,  granted  by 
himself  and  Admiral  Arbuthnot,  secured  all  those  taking  them  in 
a  condition  of  neutrality  ?" 

"It  is  not  forme,  Colonel  Walton,"  was  Proctor's  reply  —  "it  is 
not  for  me  to  discuss  the  commands  of  my  superiors.  But  does 
not  the  proclamation  declare  these  paroles  to  be  null  and  .void 
after  the  twentieth  2" 

"  True.  But  by  what  right  does  your  superior  violate  his  com 
pact?  Think  you,  sir,  that  the  Carolinians'  would  have  made 
terms  with  the  invader,  the  conditions  and  maintenance  of  which 
have  no  better  security  than  the  caprice  of  one  of  the  parties  ? 
"Tiiuk  you,  sir,  that  I,  at  least,  would  have  been  so  weak  and 


"  Perhaps,  Colonel  Walton  —  and  I  would  not  oil'end  by  the  sug 
gestion,"  replied  the  other  with  much  moderation  —  "  perhaps,  sir, 
it  was  a  singular  stretch  of  indulgence  to  grant  terms  at  all  to 
rebellion." 

41  Ay,  sir,  you  may  call  it  by  what  name  you  please  ;  but  the 
terms,  having  been  once  offe  ed  and  accepted,  were  to  the  full  as 
binding  between  the  law  and  the  rebel  as  between  the  prince  and 
dutiful  subjects." 

"  I  may  not  argue,  sir,  the  commands  of  my  superior,"  rejoined 
the  other,  firmly,  but  calmly. 

"I  am  not  so  bound,  Major  Proctor;  it  is  matter  for  close  argu 
ment  and  solemn  deliberation  with  me,  and  it  will  be  long,  sir, 
before  1  shall  bring  myself  to  lift  arms  against  my  countrymen." 


TEitilS    WITH    TYRANNY.  125 

"  There  is  a  way  of  evading  that  necessity,  Colonel  Walton," 
said  Proctor,  eagerly. 

The  uther  looked  at  him  inquiringly,  though  he  evidently  did 
not  hope  for  much  from  the  suggested  alternative. 

"That  difficulty,  sir,  may  be  overcome:  his  majesty  has  need 
of  troops  in  the  West  Indies;  Lord  Cornwallis,  with  a  due  regard 
to  the  feelings  of  his  dutiful  subjects  of  the  colonies,  has  made 
arrangements  for  an  exchange  of  service.  The  Irish  regiments 
will  be  withdrawn  from  the  West  Indies,  and  those  of  loyal  Caro 
linians  substituted.  This  frees  you  from  all  risk  of  encountering 
with  your  friends  and  countrymen,  while  at  the  same  time  it  an 
swers  equally  the  purposes  of  my  commander." 

The  soldier  by  profession  saw  nothing  degrading,  nothing  ser 
vile  in  the  proposed  compromise.  The  matter  had  a  different 
aspect  in  the  eyes  of  the  southern  gentleman.  The  proposition 
which  would  send  him  from  his  family  and  friends,  to  engage  in 
conflict  with  and  to  keep  down  those  to  whom  he  had  no  antipathy, 
was  scarcely  less  painful  in  its  exactions  than  to  take  up  arms 
against  his  immediate  neighbours.  The  sugges'ion,  too,  which 
contemplated  the  substitution  of  troops  of  foreign  mercenaries,  in 
the  place  of  native  citizens,  who  were  to  be  sent  to  other  lands  in 
the  same  capacity,  was  inexpressibly  offensive,  as  it  directly  made 
him  an  agent  for  the  increase  of  that  power  which  aimed  at  the 
destruction  of  his  people  and  his  principles.  The  sense  of  igno 
miny  grew  stronger  in  his  breast  as  he  heard  it,  and  he  paced  the 
apartment  in  unmitigated  disorder. 

"  I  am  no  hireling,  Major  Proctor ;  and  the  war,  hand  to  hand 
with  my  own  sister's  child,  would  be  less  shameful  to  me,  however 
full  of  pain  and  misery,  than  this  alternative." 

"There  is  no  other,  sir,  that  I  know  of." 

"  Ay,  sir,  but  there  is — there  is  another  alternative,  Major  Proc 
tor;  more  than  that,  sir — there  is  a  remedy." 

The  eyes  of  the  speaker  flashed,  and  Proctor  saw  that  they 
rested  upon  the  broadsword  which  hung  upon  the  wall  before  them. 

"  What  is  that,  sir  f '  inquired  the  Briton. 

"In  the  sword,  sir — in  the  strife — to  take  up  arms — to  prepar* 
for  battle  !"  was  the  stern  reply 
I 


THK    PARTISAN. 

Either  the  other  understood  him  not,  with  an  obtusencss  not 
common  wills  Lim,  or  he  chose  not  to  itmierbLiiiJ  him,  as  he  re 
plied — 

"  Why  that,  sir,  is  what  he  seeks — it  is  what  Lord  Cornwallis 
desires,  and  what,  sir,  would,  permit  me  to  say,  be  to  me,  indivi 
dually,  the  greatest  pleasure.  Your  co-operation  here,  sir,  would  do 
more  towards  quieting  discontent  than  any  other  influence." 

The  manner  of  Walton  was  unusually  grave  and  deliberate. 

"  You  have  mistaken  ine,  Major  Proctor.  When  I  spoke  of 
taking  up  the  sword,  sir,  I  spoke  of  an  alternative.  I  meant  not 
to  take  up  the  sword  to  fight  your  battles,  but  my  own.  If  this 
necessity  is  to  be  fixed  upon  Hie,  sir,  I  shall  have  no  loss  to  know 
my  duty." 

'•  Sir — Colonel  Walton — beware  !  As  a  British  officer,  in  his 
majesty's  commission,  I  must  not  listen  to  this  language.  You 
will  remember,  sir,  that  I  am  in  command  of  this  garrison,  and  of 
the  neighbouring  country — bound  to  repress  every  show  of  disaft'ec- 
tion,  and  with  the  power  to  determine,  in  the  last  resort,  without 
restiaiut,  should  my  judgment  hold  it  necessary.  I  would  not 
willingly  be  harsh  ;  and  you  will  spare  me,  sir,  from  hearing 
those  sentiments  uttered  which  become  not  the  ears  of  a  loyal 
subject." 

"  I  am  a  free  man,  Major  Proctor — I  would  be  one,  at  least. 
Things  1  must  call  by  their  right  names  ;  and,  as  such,  1  do  not 
hesitate  to  pronounce  this  decree  a  most  dishonest  and  criminal 
proceeding,  which  should  call  up  every  honest  hand  in  retribution. 
Sir  llenry  Clinton  has  done  this  day  what  he  will  long  be  sorry 
for." 

"  And  what,  permit  me  to  add,  Colonel  Walton — what  I  myself 
tt»n  sorry  for.  But  it  is  not  for  me  to  question  the  propriety  of 
that  which  my  duty  calls  upon  me  to  enforce." 

"  And  pray,  sir,  what  are  the  penalties  of  disobedience  to  this 
mandate  ?" 

"Sequestration  of  property  and  imprisonment,  at  the  discretion 
of  the  several  commandants  of  stations." 

"  Poor  Kate  ! — But  it  is  well  it  is  no  worse."  The  worda  fell 
unconsciously  from  the  lips  of  the  speaker :  he  half  btrode  over  th« 


SUBJECT    DEFERRED.  127 

floor  ;  then,  turning  upon  Proctor,  demanded  once  more  to  look 
upon  the  proclamation.  He  again  read  it  carefully. 

"  Twenty  days,  Major  Proctor,  I  see  have  been  allowed  by  Sir 
Henry  Clinton  for  deliberation  in  a  matter  which  leaves  so  little 
choice.  So  much  is  scarcely  necessary  ;  you  shall  have  my  answer 
before  that  time  is  over.  Meanwhile,  sir,  let  us  not  again  speak  of 
the  subject  until  that  period." 

"  A  painful  subject,  sir,  which  I  shall  gladly  forbear,"  said  Proc 
tor,  rising ;  "  and  I  will  hope,  at  the  same  time,  that  Colonel  Wal 
ton  thinks  not  unkindly  of  the  bearer  of  troublesome  intelligence." 

{;  God  forbid,  sir !  I  am  no  malignant.  You  have  done  your 
duty  with  all  tenderness,  and  I  thank  you  for  it.  Our  enemies  are 
not  always  so  considerate." 

"  No  enemies,  I  trust,  sir.  1  am  in  hopes  that,  upon  reflection, 
you  will  not  find  it  so  difficult  to  reconcile  yourself  to  what,  at  the 
first  blush,  may  seem  so  unpleasant." 

"  No  more,  sir — no  more  on  the  subject,"  was  the  quick,  but 
calm  reply.  "  Will  you  do  me  honour,  gentlemen,  in  a  glass  of 
Madeira — some  I  can  recommend  ?" 

They  drank ;  and  seeing  through  the  window  the  forms  of  the 
young  ladies,  Major  Proctor  proposed  to  join  them  in  their  walk — 
i  suggestion  which  his  entertainer  answered  by  leading  the  war. 
In  the  meanwhile,  let  us  go  back  to  our  old  acquaintance,  Major 
Singleton,  and  his  trusty  coadjutor.  Humphries. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

"  W«  Bseet  again — «rt  meet  again,  enre  more, 
W*  that  war*  parted — happy  that  we  meet, 
H«re  hap>7  were  we  not  to  part  again." 

close  in  cover,  Major  Singleton  and  his  guide  paused 
•t  length  in  the  shelter  of  a  gigantic  oak,  that  grew,  with  a  hun 
dred  others,  along  the  extreme  borders  of  the  park-grounds.  The 
position  had  been  judiciously  taken,  as  it  gave  them  an  unob- 
ttructed  view  of  the  Mansion  House,  the  lawn  in  front,  and  a  por 
tion  of  the  adjacent  garden.  They  were  themselves  partial  occu 
pants  of  the  finest  ornament  of  the  estate — the  extensive  grove  of 
solemn  oaks,  with  arms  branching  out  on  every  side,  sufficient  each 
of  them  for  the  shelter  of  a.  troop.  They  rose,  thickly  placed  all 
around  the  dwelling,  concentrating  in  a  beautiful  deh'le  upon  the 
front,  and  thus  continuing  for  the  distance  of  a  full  mile  until  they 
gathered  in  mass  upon  the  main  road  of  the  country.  In  the  rear 
they  stretched  away  singly  or  in  groups,  artfully  disposed,  but 
without  regularity,  down  to  the  very  verge  of  the  river,  over  which 
many  of  them  sloped  with  all  their  weight  of  limbs  and  luxuriance 
upon  them ;  their  long-drooping  beards  of  white  moss  hanging 
down  mournfully,  and  dipping  into  the  river  at  every  pressure  of 
the  wind  upon  the  boughs,  from  which  they  depended.  Under 
one  of  these  trees,  the  largest  among  them,  the  very  patriarch  of 
the  collection,  the  two  adventurers  paused  ;  Singleton  throwing 
himself  upon  a  cluster  of  the  thick  roots  which  had  risen  above 
and  now  ran  along  the  surface,  while  his  companion,  like  a  true 
scout,  wandered  ofl'  in  other  parts  of  (lie  grove  with  the  hope  to 
obtain  intelligence,  or  at  least  to  watch  the  movements  of  the  Bri 
tish  officers,  whose  presence  had  prevented  their  own  approach  to 
the  dwelling. 

AJJ  Singleton  gazed  around  upon  the  prospect,  the  whole  seeue 


MEilORT,  129 

grew  freth  nnd«r  hit  «ye ;  and  though  many  years  had  elapsed 
since,  in  the  buoyancy  and  thoughtlessness  of  boyhood,  he  had 
rambled  over  it,  yet  gradually  old  acquaintances  grew  again  fami 
liar  to  his  glance.  The  tree  he  knew  again  under  which  he  had 
formerly  played.  The  lawn  spread  freely  onward,  as  of  old,  over 
which,  in  sweet  company,  he  had  once  gambolled — the  little  clumps 
of  shrub  trees,  here  and  there,  still  grew,  as  he  had  once  known 
them  ;  and  his  heart  grew  softened  amid  its  many  cares,  as  his  me 
mory  brought  to  him  those  treasures  of  the  past,  which  were  all 
his  own  when  nothing  of  strife  was  in  his  fortunes. 

What  a  god  is  memory,  to  keep  in  life — to  endow  with  an  un- 
slumbering  vitality  beyond  that  of  our  own  nature — its  unconscious 
company — the  things  that  seem  only  born  for  its  enjoyment — that 
have  no  tongues  to  make  themselves  felt — and  no  claim  upon  it, 
only  as  they  have  ministered,  ignorant  of  their  own  value,  to  the 
tastes  and  necessities  of  a  superior !  How  more  than  dear — how 
precious  are  our  iccollections!  IIow  like  so  many  volumes,  in 
which  time  has  written  on  Lis  passage  the  history  of  the  affections 
and  the  hopes !  Their  names  may  be  trampled  upon  in  our  pas 
sion,  blotted  with  our  tears,  thrown  aside  in  our  thoughtlessness, 
but  nothing  of  their  sacred  traces  may  be  obliterated.  They  are 
with  us,  for  good  or  for  evil,  for  ever  !  They  last  us  when  the  fath  r 
and  the  mother  of  our  boyhood  are  gone.  They  bring  them  back 
as  in  infancy.  We  are  again  at  their  kriee — we  prattle  at  their 
feet — we  see  them  smile  upon,  and  we  know  that  they  love  us. 
How  dear  is  such  an  assurance!  How  sweetly,  when  the  world 
has  gone  wrong  with  us,  when  the  lover  is  a  heedless  indifferent, 
when  the  friend  has  been  tried  and  found  wanting,  do  they  cluster 
before  our  eyes  as  if  they  knew  our  desire,  and  strove  to  minister  to 
our  necessities!  True,  they  call  forth  our  tears,  but  they  take  the 
weight  from  our  hearts.  They  are  never  false  to  us, — better,  far 

o  * 

better,  were  we  more  frequently  true  to  them ! 

Such  were  the  musings  of  Singieton,  as,  reclined  along  the  roots 
of  the  old  tree,  and  sheltered  by  its  branches,  his  eye  took  in,  and 
his  memory  revived,  the  thousand  scenes  which  he  had  once 
known  of  boyish  frolic,  when  life  wore,  if  not  a  better  aspect  of 
hope  to  his  infant  mind,  at  least  a  far  less  unpleasant  show  of  it* 


130  THE    PARTISAN. 

many  privations.  Not  a  tree  grew  before  him  which  he  did  not 
remember  for  some  little  prank  or  incident ;  and  a  thousand  cir 
cumstances  were  linked  with  the  various  objects  that,  once  familiar, 
were  still  unforgotten.  Nothing  seemed  to  have  undergone  a 
change — nothing  seemed  to  have  been  impaired.  The  touches  of 
time  upon  the  old  oak  had  rather  mellowed  into  a  fitting  solemnity 
the  aspect  of  that  to  which  we  should  scarcely  ever  look  for  a  dif 
ferent  expression. 

While  he  yet  mused,  mingling  in  his  mind  the  waters  of  those 
sweet  and  bitter  thoughts  which  make  up  the  life-tide  of  the  wide 
ocean  of  memory,  the  dusk  of  evening  came  on,  soft  in  its  solem 
nity,  and  unoppressive  even  in  its  gloom,  under  the  sweet  sky  and 
unmolested  zephyr,  casting  its  pleasant  shadows  along  the  edges  of 
the  grove.  The  moon,  at  the  same  time  rising  stealthily  among  the 
tree-tops  in  the  east,  was  seeking  to  pale  her  ineffectual  fires  while 
yet  some  traces  of  the  sun  were  still  bright  in  waving  lines  and 
fragments  upon  the  opposite  horizon.  Along  the  river,  which 
kept  up  a  murmur  upon  the  low  banks,  the  breeze  skimmed  plav- 
fully  and  fresh;  and  what  with  its  pleasant  chid  ings,  the  hum  of 
the  tree-tops  bending  beneath  its  embrace,  and  the  still  more  cer 
tain  appreciation  by  his  memory  of  the  genius  of  the  place,  the 
ft  iling  of  Singleton's  bosom  grew  heightened  in  its  tone  of  melan 
choly,  and  a  more  passionate  phase  of  thought  broke  forth  in 
his  half-muttered  soliloquy  : — 

"  How  I  remember  as  I  look ;  it  is  not  only  the  woods  and  the 
grounds — the  river  and  the  spot — but  the  very  skies  are  here;  and 
that  very  wind,  and  the  murmuring  voices  of  the  trees,  are  all  tho 
same.  Nothing — nothing  changed.  All  as  of  old,  but  the  one— 
all  but  she — she,  the  laughing  child,  the  confiding  playmate  ;  and 
not  as  now,  the  capricious  woman — the  imperious  heart,  scorning 
where  once  she  soothed,  denying  where  she  was  once  so  happv  to 
bestow.  Such  is  her  change — a  change  which  the  speechless  na 
ture  itself  rebukes.  She  recks  not  now,  as  of  old,  whether  lu:r  won) 
carries  with  it  the  sting  or  the  sweet.  It  is  not  now  in  her  thought 
to  ask  whether  pain  or  pleasure  follows  the  thoughtless  slight  01 
the  scornful  pleasantry.  The  victim  suffers,  but  she  recks  not  of 
hi*  grief.  Yet  is  she  not  an  insensible — not  proud,  not  scornful 


LOVER'S  TROUBLES.  131 

Let  ma  do  her  justice  in  this.  Let  me  not  wrong  her  but  to  think 
it.  What  but  love,  kindness,  and  all  affection  is  he.1'  tendance  upon 
poor  Emily.  To  her,  is  she  not  all  meekness,  all  love,  all  forbear 
ance  ?  To  my  uncle,  too,  no  daughter  could  be  more  dutiful,  more 
•iilectienate,  more  solicitously  watchful.  To  all — to  all  but  me! 
!V»  in;',  only,  the  proud,  the  capricious,  the  indifferent.  And  yet, 
none  love  her  as  I  do ;  I  must  love  on  in  spite  of  pride,  and  scorn, 
und  indifference — I  cannot  choose  but  love  her." 

It  is  evident  that  Major  Singleton  is  by  no  means  sure  of  his 
ground,  as  a  lover.  His  doubts  are,  perhaps,  natural  enough,  and, 
up  to  a  certain  period,  must  be  shared  by  all  who  love.  His  mus 
ings,  as  we  may  conjecture,  had  for  their  object  his  fair  cousin, 
the  beautiful  Kate  Walton — according  to  his  account,  a  most  capri 
cious  damsel  in  some  respects,  though  well  enough,  it  would  appear, 
in  others.  WTe  shall  see  for  ourselves  as  we  proceed.  Meanwhile, 
the  return  of  Humphries  from  his  scouting  expedition  arrests  our 
farther  speculations  upon  this  topic,  along  with  the  soliloquy  of  out 
companion,  whose  thoughts  were  now  turned  into  another  chan 
nel,  as  he  demanded  from  his  lieutenant  an  account  of  his  disco 
veries. 

•'And  what  of  the  Britons,  Humphries?  are  they  yet  in  saddle, 
xnd  when  may  we  hope  to  approach  the  dwelling  ?  I  have  not 
been  used  to  skulk  like  a  beaten  hound  around  the  house  of  my 
mother's  brother,  not  daring  to  come  forward  ;  and  I  am  free  to 
coiif./ss.  the  necessity  makes  me  melancholy." 

"  Very  apt  to  do  so,  major,  but  you  have  to  bear  it  a  little  longer. 
The  horses  of  the  officers  have  been  brought  up  into  the  court,  anil 
'.lie  boy  is  in  waiting,  but  the  riders  have  not  made  their  appear- 
a;i(;e.  I  suppose  they  stop  few  a  last  swig  at  the  colonel's  Madeira, 
ile  keeps  a  prime  stock  on  hand,  they  say,  though  I've  never  had 
ilic  good  fortune  to  taste  any  of  it." 

u  You  shall  do  so  to-night,  Humphries,  and  grow  wiser,  uriloss 
your  British  major's  potations  exceed  a  southern  gentleman's  capa 
city  to  meet  them.  But  you  knew  my  uncle  long  before  coming 
down  from  Santee  with  him." 

"  To  be  sure  I  did,  sir.  I  used  to  see  him  frequently  iu  the  vil 
lage  *  but  since  the  fall  of  Charleston  he  has  kept  close  to  the  plan- 


132  THE    PARTISAN. 

lation.  They  say  he  goes  nowhere  now,  except  it  be  down  towards 
Caneacre  and  Horse  Savannah,  and  along  the  Stono,  where  he  ha* 
acquaintance.  I  'spose  he  has  reason  enough  to  lie  close,  for  he 
has  too  much  wealth  not  to  be  an  object,  and  the  tories  keep  a 
sharp  look-out  on  him.  Let  him  be  suspected,  and  they'd  have  a 
pretty  drive  at  the  old  plate,  and  the  negroes  would  soon  be  in  the 
Charleston  market,  and  then  off  to  the  West  Indies.  Major  Proc 
tor  is  watchful  too,  and  visits  the  squire  quite  too  frequently  not  to 
have  some  object." 

"  Said  you  not  that  my  cousin  Kate  was  the  object  ?  Object 
enough,  I  should  think,  for  a  hungry  adventurer,  sent  out  to  make 
his  fortune  in  alliance  with  the  very  blood  he  seeks  to  shed.  Kate 
would  be  a  ple/isant  acquisition  for  a  younger  son." 

There  was  something  of  bitterness  in  the  tone  of  the  speaker  on 
this  subject,  which  told  somewhat  of  the  strength  of  those  suspi 
cions  in  his  mind,  to  which,  without  intending  so  much,  Humphries, 
in  a  previous  remark,  had  actually  given  the  direction.  The  latter 
saw  this,  and  with  a  deliberate  tact,  not  so  much  the  work  of  his 
education  as  of  a  natural  delicacy,  careful  not  to  startle  the  nice  jea 
lousies  of  Singleton,  he  hastened  to  remove  the  impression  which 
unwittingly  he  had  made.  Without  laying  any  stress  upon  what 
lie  said,  and  with  an  expression  of  countenance  the  most  indifferent, 
lie  proceeded  to  reply  as  follows  to  the  remark  of  his  companion  : — 

"  Why,  major,  it  would  be  a  pleasant  windfall  to  Proctor  could 
he  g*t  Miss  Walton  ;  but  there's  a  mighty  small  chance  of  that,  if 
folks  say  true.  He  goes  there  often  enough,  that's  certain,  but  he 
doesn't  see  her  half  the  time.  She  keeps  her  chamber,  or  takes 
herself  off  in  the  carriage,  when  she  hears  of  his  coming ;  and  hia 
chance  is  slim  even  to  meet  with  her,  let  'lone  to  get  her." 

There  was  a  tremulous  lightness  in  Singleton's  tone  as  he  spoke 
to  this  in  oblique  language — 

"  And  yet  Proctor  has  attractions,  has  he  not  ?  I  have  some 
where  heard  so — a  fine  person,  good  features,  even  handsome.  lie 
is  young,  too." 

"  Few  better-looking  men,  sir,  and  making  due  allowance  for  an 
enemy,  a  clever  sort  of  fellow  enough.  A  good  officer,  too,  that 
knows  what  he's  about,  and  quite  a  polite,  tair-spoken  gentJeiuau.' 


HIST  I    THEY   COME.  133 

a  Indeed  !  attractions  quite  enough,  it  would  seem,  to  persuade 
any  young  lady  into  civility.  And  yet,  you  say — " 

"Hist,  major  !  'Talk  of  the Ask  pardon,  sir;  but  drop 

behind  this  bush.  Ilere  comes  the  lady  herself  with  your  sister,  I 
believe,  though  I  can't  say  at  this  distance.  They've  been  walking 
through  the  oaks,  and,  as  you  see,  Proctor  keeps  the  house." 

The  two  sank  into  cover  as  the  young  ladies  came  through  the 
grove,  bending  their  way  towards  the  very  spot  where  Singleton 
had  been  reclining.  The  place  was  a  favourite  with  all,  and  the 
ramble  in  this  quarter  was  quite  a  regular  custom  of  the  afternoon 
with  the  fair  heiress  of  Colonel  Walton  in  particular.  As  she  ap 
proached  they  saw  the  lofty  carriage,  the  graceful  height,  and  the 
symmetrical  person  of  our  heroine — her  movement  bespeaking  for 
her  that  degree  of  consideration  which  few  ever  looked  upon  her 
and  withheld.  Her  dress  was  white  and  simple,  rather  more  in  the 
fashion  of  the  present  than  of  that  time,  when  a  lady's  body  was 
hooped  in  like  a  ship's,  by  successive  layers  of  cordage  and  timber ; 
and  when  her  headgear  rose  into  a  pyramid,  tower  upon  tower,  a 
massy  and  Babel-like  structure,  well  stuccoed,  to  keep  its  place,  by 
the  pastes  and  pomatums  of  the  day.  With  her  dress,  the  nicest 
stickler  for  the  proper  simplicities  of  good  taste  would  have  found 
no  cause  of  complaint.  Setting  off  her  figure  to  advantage,  it  did 
not  unpleasantly  confine  it ;  and,  as  for  her  soft  brown  hair,  it  was 
free  to  wanton  in  the  winds,  save  where  a  strip  of  velvet  restrained 
it  around  her  brows.  Yet  this  simplicity  indicated  no  improper  in 
difference  on  the  part  of  the  lady  to  her  personal  appearance.  On 
the  contrary,  it  was  the  art  which  concealed  itself — the  felicitous 
taste,  and  the  just  estimate  of  a  mind' capable  of  conceiving  proper 
standards  of  fitness — that  achieved  so  much  in  the  inexpressive  yet 
attractive  simplicity  of  her  costume.  She  knew  that  the  elevated 
and  intellectual  forehead  needed  no  mountainous  height  of  hair  for 
its  proper  effect.  She  compelled  hers,  accordingly — simply  parting 
it  in  front — to  play  capriciously  behind  ;  and,  "  heedful  of  beauty, 
the  same  woman  still,"  the  tresses  that  streamed  so  luxuriantly  about 
her  neck,  terminated  in  a  hundred  sylph-like  locks,  exceedingly  na 
tural  to  behold,  but  which  may  have  cost  her  some  half-hour's  indus 
trious  application  daily  ut  the  toilet.  Her  eye  was  dark  and  «-ichiy 
6* 


184  Till'.     rAP.TISAX. 

nilliant  '.c.  its  expression,  though  wo  may  look  inr«i  its  depths  vainly 
for  that  evidence  of  caprice,  and  wanton  lo\v  oi'  its  exercise,  which 
Singleton  had  rather  insisted  upon  as  her  i-liaractiristic.  Her  face 
\\as  finely  formed,  delicately  clear  and  white,  slightly  pale,  but 
p'arked  still  with  an  appearance  of  perfect  health,  which  preserved 
that  just  medium  the  eye  of  taste  loves  to  vest  upon,  in  which  the 
rose  rises  not  into  the  brilliant  glow  of  mere  vulgar  health,  and  is 
yet  sufficiently  present  to  keep  the  cheek  from  falling  into  the  oppo 
site  extreme,  the  autumnal  sickness  of  aspect,  which,  wanting  in  the 
rose,  it  is  so  very  apt  to  assume. 

Not  so  the  companion  beside  her.  Pale  and  shadowy,  the  young 
girl,  younger  than  herself,  who  hung  upon  her  arm,  was  one  of  the 
doomed  victims  of  consumption — that  subtle  death  that  sleeps 
with  us,  and  smiles  with  us — insidiously  winds  about  us  to  lay 
waste,  and  looks  most  lovely  when  most  determined  to  destroy. 
She  was  small  and  naturally  slight  of  person,  but  the  artful  disease 
under  which  she  suffered  had  made  her  more  so  ;  and  her  wasted 
form,  the  evident  fatigue  of  her  movement,  not  to  speak  of  the  pain 
and  difficulty  of  her  breathing,  were  all  so  many  proofs  that  the 
tenure  of  her  life  was  insecure,  and  her  term  brief.  Yet  few  were 
ever  more  ready  for  the  final  trial  than  the  young  lady  before  us. 
The  heart  of  Emily  Singleton  was  as  pure  as  her  eyes  were  gentle. 
Her  affections  were  true,  and  her  thoughts  had  been  long  since 
tutaied  only  to  heaven.  Her  own  condition  had  never  been  con 
cealed  from  her,  nor  was  she  disposed  to  shrink  from  its  considera 
tion.  Doomed  to  a  brief  existence,  she  wasted  not  the  hours  in 
painful  repinings  at  a  fate  so  stern  ;  but  still  regarding  it  as  inevi 
table,  she  prepared  as  calmly  as  possible  to  encounter  it.  Fortu 
nately,  she  had  no  strong  passions  aroused  and  concentrated,  bind 
ing  her  to  the  earth.  Love — that  quick,  angry,  and  eating  fever  of 
the  mind — had  never  touched  the  heart  that,  gentle  from  the  first, 
nad  been  restrained  from  the  indulgence  of  such  a  feeling  by  the 
due  consciousness  of  that  destiny  which  could  not  admit  of  its 
reali/ation.  Her  mood  had  grown  loftier,  sublimer,  in  due  propor 
tion  with  the  check  which  this  consciousness  had  maintained  upon 
her  sensibilities.  She  had  become  spiritualized  in  mind,  even  aa 
»he  had  grown  attenuated  in  person  ;  and  \\itli  no  imirmurings,  and 


A    PATIENT    DAMSEL.  136 

bin  „'  ,  .xg-'-iCfi,  her  thoughts  were  now  only  busied  with  those 
heaN  «m«rd  contemplations  which  take  the  pang  from  death,  and 
disarm  parting  of  many  of  its  privations.  Singleton  looked  forth 
from  his  cover  upon  the  form  of  his  sister,  while  the  tears  gathered 
in  big  drops  into  his  eyes. 

"  So  pure,  so  early  doomed  !  Oh,  my  aweet  sister ! — and  when, 
that  comes,  then,  indeed,  am  I  aloo.e.  Poor  Emily  !" 

Thus  muttering  to  himself,  as  they  came  near,  he  was  about  to 
emerge  into  sight  and  address  them,  when,  at  the  instant,  Hum 
phries  caught  his  wrist,  and  whispered  : — 

"  Stir  not — move  not.  Proctor  approaches,  with  Colonel  Walton 
and  another.  Our  hope  is  in  lying  close." 

The  ladies  turned  to  meet  the  gentlemen.  The  two  British 
officers  seemed  already  acquainted  with  them,  since  they  now 
advanced  without  any  introduction.  Proctor,  with  the  ease  of  a 
well  bred  gentleman,  placed  himself  beside  the  fair  heiress  of  the 
place,  to  whom  he  tendered  his  arm  ;  while  his  companion,  Captain 
Dickson  of  the  Guards,  made  a  similar  tender  to  Emily.  The  latter 
quietly  took  the  arm  of  Dickson,  releasing  that  of  her  cousin  at  the 
same  moment.  But  Kate  seemed  not  disposed  to  avail  herself  of 
her  example.  Civilly  declining  Proctor's  offer,  with  great  compo 
sure  she  placed  her  arm  within  that  of  her  father,  and  the  walk  was 
continued.  None  of  this  had  escaped  the  notice  of  Major  Single 
ton,  whose  place  of  concealment  was  close  beside  the  path  ;  and, 
without  taking  too  many  liberties  with  his  confidence,  we  may  say 
that  his  feelings  were  those  of  pleasure  as  he  witnessed  this  pro 
ceeding  of  his  cousin. 

"  I  take  no  aid  from  mine  enemy,  Major  Proctor,"  said  the  fair 
heiress,  half  apologetically,  and  half  playfully, — "  certainly  never 
when  I  can  do  without  it.  You  will  excuse  me,  therefore  ;  but  I 
should  regard  your  uniform  as  having  received  its  unnaturally  deep 
red  from  the  veins  of  my  countrymen." 

"  So  much  a  rebel  as  that,  Miss  Walton  !  It  is  well  for  us  that 
the  same  spirit  does  not  prevail  among  your  warriors.  What  would 
have  been  our  chances  of  success  had  such  been  the  case  ?" 

"  You  think  your  conquest  then  complete,  Major  Proctor — -you 
think  that  our  people  will  always  sleep  under  oppression,  .and 


136  THE    1' ARTISAN. 

returu  you  thanks  fur  blows,  and  homage  for  chastisement.  Relieve 
so — it  is  quite  as  well.  But  you  have  seen  the  beginning  only. 
Reserve,  your  triumph  for  the  end." 

"  Do  the  ladies  of  Carolina  all  entertain  this  spirit,  Miss  Walton  ? 
Will  none  of  them  take  the  aid  of  the  gallant  knight  that  claims 
service  at  their  hands  ?  or  is  it,  as  I  believe,  that  she  stands  alone 
in  this  rebel  attitude,  an  exception  to  her  countrywomen  ?" 

"  Nay  ;  I  cannot  now  answer  you  this  question.  We  see  few 
of  my  countrywomen  or  countrymen  now,  thanks  to  our  enemies ; 
and  I  have  learned  to  forbear  asking  what  they  need  or  desire.  It 
is  enough  for  me  that  when  I  desire  the  arm  of  a  good  knight,  I  can 
have  him  at  need  without  resorting  to  that  of  an  enemy  !" 

"  Indeed !"  replied  the  other,  with  some  show  of  curiosity — 
"  indeed,  you  are  fortunate ;  but  your  reference  is  uow  to  your 
father  ?" 

"  My  father  ? — Oh,  no  !  although,  as  now,  I  not  (infrequently 
claim  his  aid  in  preference  to  that  of  iny  foe." 

"  Why  your  foe,  Miss  Walton  ?  Have  we  not  brought  you 
peace  ?  There  is  no  strife  now  in  Carolina." 

"  Peace,  indeed  !  the  peace  of  fear,  that  is  kept  from  action  by 
chains  and  the  dread  of  punishment !  Call  you  that  peace  !  It  is 
a  peace  that  is  false  and  cannot  last.  You  will  see." 

"  Be  it  as  you  say.  Still  we  are  no  enemies — we  who  serve  your 
monarch  as  our  own,  and  simply  enforce  those  laws  which  we  are 
all  bound  in  common  to  obey." 

"  No  monarch  of  mine,  if  you  please.  I  care  not  a  straw  for 
him,  and  don't  understand,  and  never  could,  the  pretensions  of  your 
kings  and  princes,  your  divine  rights,  and  your  established  and 
immutable  systems  of  human  government,  humanity  itself  being 
mutable,  hourly  undergoing  change,  and  hourly  in  adpance  of 
government." 

"  Why,  this  is  to  be  a  rebel ;  but  we  shall  not  dispute,  Miss  Wal 
ton.  It  is  well  for  us,  as  I  have  said  before,  that  such  are  not  the 
sentiments  of  your  warriors;  else,  stimulated,  as  they  must  have 
been,  by  the  pleadings  of  lips  like  yours,  they  must  have  been 
invincible.  It  will  not  indicate  too  much  simplicity,  if  I  marvel 
that  Xlicir  utterance  hitherto  has  availed  so  little  in  bringing  your 


KKi'AUlEi'J.  137 

men  into  the  field.  We  Lave  not  easily  found  our  foes  in  a  country 
in  which,  indeed,  it  is  our  chief  desire  to  find  friends  only." 

"  It  follows  from  this,  Major  Proctor,  that  there  is  only  so  much 
more  safety  for  his  majesty's  more  loyal  subjects." 

"  You  are  incorrigible,  Miss  Walton." 

"  No,  sir  ;  only  too  indulgent — too  like  my  countrymen — dread 
ing  the  combat  which  I  yet  see  is  a  necessity." 

"  If  so,  why  has  there  been  so  little  opposition  ?" 

"  Perhaps,  sir,  you  will  not  always  ask  the  question." 

"  You  still  have  hopes,  then,  of  the  rebel  cause." 

"  My  country's  cause,  Major  Proctor,  if  you  please.  I  still  have 
hopes;  and  I  trust  that  his  majesty's  arms  may  not  long  have 
to  regret  the  continuance  of  a  warfare  so  little  stimulating  to  their 
enterprise,  and  so  little  calculated  to  yield  them  honour." 

The  British  colonel  bowed  at  the  equivocal  sentiment,  and  after  a 
pause  of  a  few  moments  the  lady  proceeded — 

"  And  yet,  Major  Proctor,  not  to  speak  too  freely  of  matters  of 
which  my  sex  can  know  so  little,  T  must  say,  knowing  as  !  do  the 
spirit  of  some  among  my  countrymen — I  must  say,  it  has  greatly 
surprised  me  that  your  conquests  should  have  been  usually  so  easy." 

"  That  need  not  surprise  you,  Miss  Walton ;  you  remember 
that  ours  are  British  soldiers" — and  with  a  smile  and  bow,  the 
British  major  made  his  self-complacent,  but  only  half  serious 
answer. 

"  By  which  I  am  to  understand,  on  the  authority  of  one  of  the 
parties,  its  own  invincibility.  It  is  with  your  corps,  I -believe,  that 
the  sentiment  runs — though  they  do  not — 'we  never  retreat,  we 
die.'  Unquestionable  authority,  surely  ;  and  it  may  be  that  such  is 
the  case.  Few  persons  think  more  highly  of  British  valour  than  the 
Carolinians.  Father,  you,  I  know,  think  extravagantly  of  it ;  and 
cousin  Robert,  too:  T  have  heard  you  both  speak  in  terms  which 
fully  sustain  you,  Major  Proctor,  in  what  might  bo.  called  the  self- 
complaisance  which  just  now  assigned  th'.1  cuii:-e  of  your  success." 

Colouring  somewhat,  and  with  a  grave  tone  of  voice  that  was  not 
his  wont,  Proctor  replied — 

"  There  is  truth  in  what  I  have  told  you,  Miss  Walton  ;  the 
British  soldier  lights  with  a  pel  'feet  faith  in  his  invincibility,  and  this 


138  THE    PARTISAN. 

faith  enables  him  to  realize  it.  The  first  lesson  of  the  good  officer 
is  to  prepare  the  minds  of  his  men  with  this  confidence,  not  only  in 
their  own  valour,  but  in  their  own  good  fortune." 

"  And  yet,  Major  Proctor,  I  am  not  so  sure  that  the  brave  young 
men  I  have  known,  such  as  cousin  Robert — the  major,  for  he,  too, 
is  a  major,  father — so  Emily  says — I  am  not  so  sure  that  they  will 
fight  the  less  against,  you  on  that  account.  Robert  T  know  too  well 
to  believe  that  he  has  any  fears,  though  he  thinks  as  highly  of 
British  valour  as  anybody  else." 

"  Who  is  this  Robert,  Miss  Walton,  of  whom  you  appear  to  think 
so  highly  ?" 

There  was  something  of  pique  in  the  manner  and  language  of 
Proctor  as  he  made  the  inquiry,  and  with  a  singular  change  in  her 
own  manner,  in  which  she  took  her  loftiest  attitude  and  looked  her 
sternest  expression,  Katharine  Walton  replied — 

"  A  relative,  sir,  a  near  relative ;  Robert  Singleton — Major  Robert 
Singleton,  1  should  say — a  gentleman  in  the  commission  of  Gover 
nor  Rutledge." 

"  Tla !  a  major,  too,  and  in  the  rebel  army !"  said  the  other. 
"  Well,  Miss  Walton,  I  may  have  the  honour,  and  hope  some  day 
to  have  the'  pleasure,  to  meet  with  your  cousin." 

The  manner  of  the  speaker  was  respectful,  but  there  was  a  slight 
something  of  sarcasm — so  Katharine  thought — in  his  tones,  and  her 
reply  was  immediate. 

"  We  need  say  nothing  of  the  pleasure  to  either  party  from  the 
meeting,  Major  Proctor ;  but  if  you  do  meet  with  him,  knowing 
Robert  as  I  do,  you  will  most  probably,  if  you  have  time,  be  taught 
to  remember  this  conversation." 

Proctor  bit. his  lip.  He  could  not  misunderstand  the  occult 
meaning  of  her  reply,  but  he  said  nothing ;  and  Colonel  Walton, 
who  had  striven  to  check  the  conversation  at  moments  when  he  be 
came  conscious  of  its  tenor,  now  gladly  engaged  his  guest  on  other 
and  more  legitimate  topics.  He  had  been  abstracted  during  much 
of  the  time  occupied  by  his  daughter  and  Proctor  in  their  rather 
piquant  dialogue;  but  even  in  the  more  spirited  portions  of  it, 
nothing  was  said  by  the  maiden  that  was  not  a  familiar  sentiment 
in  the  mouths  of  those  Carolinian  ladies,  wbo  wore  proud  to  sh.ir* 


CURTAIN    DROPS   ON    THE    LADIES.  189 

«rith  the'f  countrymen  in  the  oj)probrious  epithet  of  rebel,  conferred 
on  UIPJU  JP  no  stinted  terms  by  their  invaders. 

Meanwhile  Major  Singleton,  in  his  cover,  to  whose  ears  portions 
of  the  dialogue  had  come,  was  no  little  gladdened  by  what  he  heard, 
and  could  not  forbear  muttering  to  himself — 

"  Now,  bless  the  girl  !  she  is  a  jewel  of  a  thousand." 

But  the  dark  was  now  rapidly  settling  down  upon  the  spot,  and 
the  dews,  beginning  to  fall,  warned  Kate  of  her  duty  to  her  invalid 
cousin.  Withdrawing  her  arm  from  her  father,  she  approached 
Emily,  and  reminded  her  of  the  propriety  of  returning  to  the  dwell 
ing.  Her  feeble  lips  parted  in  a  murmured  reply,  all  gentleness  and 
dependence — 

"  Yes,  Kate,  you  are  right.  I  have  been  wishing  it,  for  I  am 
rather  tired.  Do  fix  this  handkerchief,  cousin,  higher  and  close 
about  my  neck — there,  that  will  do." 

She  still  retained  Dickson's  arm,  while  she  passed  one  of  her 
hands  through  that  of  her  cousin.  In  this  manner,  followed  by 
Colonel  Walton  and  Major  Proctor  at  a  little  distance,  the  three 
moved  away  arid  returned  to  the  dwelling. 

Glad  of  his  release  from  the  close  imprisonment  of  his  bush, 
Singleton  now  came  forward  with  Humphries,  who,  after  a  brief  in 
terval,  stole  along  by  the  inner  fence,  in  the  close  shadow  of  the 
trees,  and  with  cautious  movement  reached  a  position  which  enabled 
him  to  see  when  the  British  officers  took  their  departure.  His 
delay  to  return,  though  not  long  protracted — for  the  guests  only 
waited  to  see  the  ladies  safely  seated  and  to  make  their  adieus — 
was,  however,  an  age  to  his  companion.  Singleton  was  impatient 
to  present  himself  to  his  fair  cousin,  whose  dialogue  with  I'roctor 
had  given  him  all  the  gratification  which  a  lover  must  always  feel, 
who  hears  from  the  lips  of  her  whom  he  loves,  not  only  those  si-nti- 
meuts  which  his  own  sense  approves,  but  the  general  language  ';f 
regard  for  himself,  even  so  slight  and  passing  as  that  which  had 
fallen  from  his  cousin  in  reference  to  him.  She  had  spoken  in  a  tone 
and  manner  which  was  common,  indeed,  to  the  better  informed,  the 
more  elevated  and  refined  of  the  Carolina  ladies  at  that  period  ; 
when,  as  full  of  patriotic  daring  as  the  men,  they  warmed  and 
•tiinulated  their  adventurous  courage,  and  undertook  luiasion.s  of 


140  THE    PARTISAN. 

peril  and  privation,  which  are  now  on  record  in  honourable  evidene* 
of  their  fearlessness,  sensibility,  and  love  of  country.  It  was  not 
long  after  this  when  the  trusty  lieutenant  returned  to  his  superior, 
giving  him  the  pleasing  intelligence  of  the  departure  of  Proctor  and 
his  companion.  Waiting  for  no  messenger,  Singleton  at  once 
hurried  to  the  dwelling  of  his  uncle,  and,  leaving  Humphries  in  the 
hall,  he  was  hurrying  forward  when,  in  the  passage-way  leading  to 
the  upper  apartments,  the  first  person  he  met  was  Kate  herself. 

"  Why  Robert,  cousin  Robert,  is  it  you  !" 

The  heart  of  the  youth  had  been  so  much  warmed  towards  her 
by  what  he  had  heard  in  the  previous  dialogue,  that  his  manner  and 
language  had  in  them  much  more  of  passionate  .warmth  than  was 
altogether  customary  even  with  him. 
.  "  Dear,  dear  Kate,  how  I  rejoice  to  see  you  !" 

"  Bless  me,  cousin,  how  affectionate  you  have  become  all  at  once  ! 
There's  no  end  to  you — there — have  clone  with  your  squeezing. 
Hold  my  hand  quietly,  as  if  you  had  no  wish  to  carry  oft'  the 
fingers,  and  I  will  conduct  you  to  Emily." 

"  And  she,  Kate  !" 

Tie  urged  the  question  in  an  under- tone,  and  the  eyes  of  his 
cousin  were  filled  with  teal's  as  she  replied  hastily — 

"  Is  nigher  heaven  every  day — but  come." 

As  they  walked  to  an  inner  apartment,  he  told  her  of  his  previ 
ous  concealment,  and  the  partial  use  he  had  made  of  his  ears  while 
her  chat  with  Proctor  had  been  going  on. 

"  And  you  heard — what !" 

"  Not  much,  Kate  ;  only  that  you  have  not  deserted  your  country 
y«'t,  when  so  many  are  traitors  to  her." 

The  light  was  not  sufficient  to  enable  him  to  see  it,  but  there  was 
;i.  rich  flush  upon  the  cheek  of  his  companion  as  he  repeated  some 
portions  of  the  conversation  he  had  heard,  which  would  have  made 
him  better  satisfied  that  her  supposed  caprice  was  not.  so  very  per 
manent  in  its  nature. 

In  a  few  moments  they  were  in  the  apartment,  where,  extended 
i.pon  a  sofa,  lay  the  slight  and  shadowy  person  of  Emily  Singleton. 
tier  brother  was  beside  her  in  an  instant,  and  ?he  Wits  wrapped  in 
bis  arms. 


TI1K    DYING    MAIDEN.  141 

"  Emily  —  my  dear,  dear  sister  !"  lie  exclainjed,  as  he  pressed  his 
lips  warmly  upon  her  check. 

"  Dear  Robert,  you  are  come  !  I  am  glad,  b.it  there  now,  dear 
Robert — there  ! — Release  me  now.'' 

She  breathed  more  freely,  freed  from  his  embrace,  and  lie  then 
gazed  upon  her  with  a  painful  sort  of  pleasure — her  look  \v;:s  so 
clear,  so  dazzling,  so  spiritual,  so  unnaturally  life-like. 

"  Sit  by  me,"  she  said.  He  drew  a  low  bench,  and  while  he  took 
his  seat  upon  it,  Katharine  left  the  room.  Emily  put  her  hand  iiiio 
that  of  her  brother,  and  'looked  into  his  face  without  speaking  lor 
several  minutes.  His  voice,  too,  was  husky  when  he  spoke,  so  thai, 
when  his  cousin  had  returned  to  the  apartment,  though  all  feelings 
between  them  had  been  perfectly  understood,  but  few  words  had 
been  said. 

"  Sit  closer,  brother — closer,"  she  said  to  him,  fondly,  and  motioned 
him  to  draw  the  bench  beside  her.  He  did  so,  and  in  her  feeble 
tones  many  were  the  questions  which  the  dying  girl  addressed  to  her 
companion.  All  the  domestic  associations  of  her  home  on  the  San- 
tee — the  home  of  her  childhood  and  its  pleasures,  when  she  had 
hopes  and  dreams  of  the  future,  and  disease  had  not  yet  shown  itself 
upon  her  system.  To  these  questions  his  answers  were  made  with 
difficulty;  many  things  had  occurred,  since  her  departure,  which 
would  have  been  too  trying  for  her  to  hear.  She  found  his  replies 
unsatisfactory,,  therefore,  and  she  pressed  them  almost  reproach 
fully— 

"And  you  haVe  told  me  nothing  of  old  mauma*  Robert:  is  she 
not  well  ?  does  she  not  miss  me  ?  did  she  not  wish  to  come  ?  And 
Frill,  the  pointer — the  poor  dog — I  wonder  who  feeds  him  now.  1 
wish  you  could  have  brought  mauma  with  you,  Robert — I  should 
like  to  have  her  attend  on  me,  she  knows  my  ways  and  wishes  so 
much  better  than  anybody  else.  T  should  not  want  h.-r  long." 

And  though  she  concluded  her  desire  with  a  rei'.'renrc  to  her 
approaching  fate,  the  sigh  which  followed  was  inaudible  to  her 
brother. 

*  Probably  a  corruption  of  mnmma,  an  affectionate  term  of  eiiiK>anueni 
which  the  southern  child  usually  aiMr-wes  to  ila  negro  nurse. 


142  THE    F ARTISAN. 

"  But  you  are  well  attended  here,  Emily,  my  dear.  Cousin 
Kate—" 

"  Is  a  sister,  and  all  that  I  could  desire,  and  I  am  as  well  attended 
as  I  could  be  anywhere ;  but  it  is  thus  that  we  repine.  I  only 
wished  for  mauma,  as  we  wish  for  an  old-time  prospect  which  has 
grown  so  familiar  to  our  eyes  that  it  seems  to  form  a  part  of  the 
bight :  so  indeed,  though  every  thing  is  beautiful  and  delightful 
about  '  The  Oaks,'  I  still  long  to  ramble  over  our  old  walks  among 
the  '  Hills.' " 

The  brow  of  Singleton  blackened  as  she  thus  passingly  alluded  to 
the  beautiful  estate  of  his  fathers  ;  but  he  said  nothing,  or  evaded, 
in  his  answer,  the  demand, — and  she  proceeded  in  her  inquiries — 

"And  the  garden,  Robert — my  garden,  you  know.  Do,  when 
you  go  back,  see  that  Luke  keeps  the  box  trimmed,  and  the  hedgf ; 
the  morning  I  left  it,  it  looked  very  luxuriant.  I  was  too  hurried 
to  give  him  orders,  but  do  you  attend  to  it  when  you  return.  He 
is  quite  too  apt  to  leave  it  to  itself." 

There  was  much  in  these  simple  matters  to  distress  her  brother, 
of  which  she  was  fortunately  ignorant.  How  could  he  say  to  the 
dying  girl,  that  her  mauma,  severely  beaten  by  the  tories,  had  fled 
into  the  swamps  for  shelter  ? — that  her  favourite  dog,  Frill,  had  been 
shot  down,  as  he  ran,  by  the  same  brutal  wretches  ? — that  the  man 
sion-house  of  her  parents,  her  favourite  garden,  had  been  devastated 
by  fire,  applied  by  the  same  cruel  hands  ? — that  Luke  the  gardener, 
and  all  the  slaves  who  remained  unstolen,  had  fled  for  safety  into  the 
thick  recesses  of  the  San  tee  ? — how  could  he  tell  her  this  ?  The 
ruin  which  had  harrowed  his  own  soul  almost  to  madness,  would 
have  been  instant  death  to  her ;  and  though  the  tears  were  with 
difficulty  kept  back  from  his  eyes,  he  replied  calmly,  and  with  suf 
ficient  evasion  successfully  to  deceive  the  sufferer. 

At  this  moment  Katharine  re-entered  the  apartment,  and  relieved 
him  by  her  presence.  He  rose  from  the  bench,  and  prepared  to 
attend  upon  his  uncle,  who,  as  yet  unap prised  of  his  arrival,  remained 
in  his  chamber.  He  bent  down,  and  his  lips  were  pressed  once 
more  upon  the  brow  of  his  sister.  She  put  her  hand  into  his,  and 
looked  into  his  face  for  several  minutes  without  speaking ;  and  that 
pure,  so  bright,  so  fond — so  becoming  of  heaven,  y«t  so 


BRITISH    PROTECTION".  143 

hopeless  of  earth  ! — he  could  bear  the  gaze  no  longer;  the  emotion 
rose  shiveriugly  in  his  soul — the  tears  could  be  no  longer  kept  from 
gushing  forth,  and  he  hurried  from  her  sight  to  conceal  them. 

"  Oh,  whjr — why,"  he  said,  in  a  burst  of  passionate  emotion,  as 
he  hurried  below — "  wherefore,  great  Father  of  Mercies,  wherefore 
is  this  doom  ?  Why  should  the  good  and  the  beautiful  so  early 
porish — why  should  they  perish  at  all  ?  Sad,  sad,  that  the  creature 
so  made  to  love  and  be  beloved,  should  have  lived  in  affliction,  and 
died  without  having  the  feelings  once  exercised  or  compensated, 
which  have  been  so  sweet  and  innocent.  Even  death  is  beaut, fu. 
and  soft,  seen  in  her  eyes,  wnd  gathering  in  words  that  coir: 2  fiTra 
her  lips  like  the  droppihg  -,'  w  much  music  from  heaven  My 
jxHir,  poor  Emily !" 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

"  The  time  is  come  ;  thy  chances  of  escape 
Grow  narrow,  and  thuu  hast,  to  save  thyself, 
But  one  resolve.    Take  oath  with  u>  and  live." 

OOLONEL  WALTON,  upon  the  departure  of  his  guests,  retired  to 
an  :nner  apartment.  His  spirits,  depressed  enough  before,  were 
rt:w  considerably  more  so.  Mingled  feelings  were  at  strife  in  his 
Losom — doubts  and  fears,  hopes  and  misgivings — a  sense  of  degra 
dation — a  more  unpleasant  consciousness  of  shame.  The  difficul 
ties  of  his  situation  grew  and  gathered  before  his  eyes  the  more  he 
surveyed  them ;  they  called  for  deliberate  thought,  yet  they  also 
demanded  early  and  seasonable  determination.  The  time  allowed 
him. for  decision  by  the  ruling  powers  was  brief,  and  the  matter  to 
be  decided  involved,  in  addition  to  the  personal  risks  of  life  and 
liberty,  the  probable  forfeiture  of  an  immense  estate,  and  the  beg 
gary,  in  consequence,  of  an  only  and  beloved  daughter.  To  save 
these,  in  part,  from  what  he  conceived  otherwise  to  be  inevitable 
ruin,  he  had  originally  laid  aside  his  arms.  He  was  now  taught, 
in  the  most  impressive  manner,  the  error  of  which  he  had  been 
guilty  in  yielding  so  readily  to  circumstances — placing  himself  so 
completely,  not  only  in  the  power  of  his  enemy,  but  in  the  wrong; 
in  having  foregone  that  fine  sense  of  national,  to  say  nothing  of  per 
sonal  honour,  without  which  the  citizen  merits  not  the  name,  and  ha* 
no  real  claim  upon  the  protection  of  his  country.  This  sacrifice  he 
had  made  without  realizing,  in  its  place,  that  very  security  of 
person  and  property,  its  pledged  equivalent,  which  had  been  the 
price  of  its  surrender.  Bitterly,  in  that  moment  of  self-examina 
tion,  did  he  reproach  himself  with  the  unmanly  error.  Truly  did 
he  feel,  by  his  present  situation,  that  he  who  submits  to  tyranny 
arrns  it ;  and  by  not  opposing  it,  weakens  that  power, — better  prin 
cipled,  or  with  better  courage  than  himself, — which  battle*  with  it 
v-'  the  last. 


BRITISH   SWAY.  14.5 

The  exigency  grow  more  and  more  involved  the  more  he.  thought 
upon  it.  He  could  see  but  one  alternative  left  him, — that  which 
he  had  already  hinted  at  to  Major  Proctor,  of  again  lifting  his 
sword  ;  and,  if  compelled  to  use  it,  of  doing  so  tor  the  only  cause 
which  he  could  consider  legitimate — that  of  his  country.  Yet,  how 
hopeless,  how  rash  and  ill-advised,  at  that  moment,  seamed  the 
adoption  of  such  an  alternative  !  The  people  of  the  colony  had  all 
submitted  ;  so  it  seemed,  at  least,  in  the  absence  of  all  opposition 
to  the  advancing  armies  of  the  British.  They  scoured  the  country 
on  every  side.  They  planted  posts,  the  better  to  overawe  the  dis 
affected,  and  confirm  their  conquests,  in  every  conspicuous  or  popu 
lous  region  ;  and  though  tyrannizing  everywhere  with  reckless  rule 
and  a  rod  of  iron,  the  people  seemed  to  prefer  a  lot  so  burdensome 
and  wretched,  rather  than  exchange  it  for  a  strife  having  not  one 
solitary  hope  to  recommend  it.  Such  was  the  condition  of  things 
in  Carolina  at  the  time  of  which  we  write,  just  after  the  parting 
proclamation  of  Sir  Ilenry  Clinton,  when,  upon  transferring  the 
southern  command  to  Lord  Cornwallis,  he  adopted  this  mode  of 
strengthening  his  successor  by  the  employment  of  the  native 
militia. 

Colonel  Walton  was  not  a  coward,  but  he  deliberated  carefully 
upon  all  adventure  involving  peril  in  >ts  progress.  The  circum 
stances  in  which  the  colony  stood  at  that  period  were  too  obvious 
not  to  force  themselves  upon  his  consideration  ;  and  desperate  and 
degrading  as  were  the  requirements  of  the  proclamation,  he  saw  no 
mode  of  escape  from  them.  What  if  he  drew  the  sword  ?  would 
he  not  draw  it  alone  ?  Where  should  he  find  support  ?  To  what 
spot  should  he  turn — where  strike — where  make  head  against  the 
enemy  ? — where,  except  in  the  remoter  colonies,  where  a  doubtful 
struggle  was  still  maintained — doubtful  in  ifs  results,  and  only 
exposing  its  defenders  there  to  the  same  fate  he  was  now  about  to 
encounter  in  his  native  soil  ?  The  prospect  grew  brighter  a  short 
time  after,  when  Sumter  came  plunging  down  from  North  Carolina 
with  the  fierce  rapidity  of  flame ;  when  Marion  emerged  from  hia 
swamps  on  the  Peedee  and  Black  River,  with  the  subtle  certainty 
which  belongs  to  skill  and  caution  mingled  with  determined  and 
fearless  valour :  and  when,  like  our  hero,  Major  Singleton,  a  lum- 


14(5  THE   PARTISAN. 

dred  brave  your.g  partisan  leaders,  starling  suddenly  up,  w/th  their 
little  squads,  on  every  side  throughout  the  country,  prepared  to  take 
terrible  vengeance  tor  the  thousand  wantonly  inflicted  sufferings 
which  their  friends  and  families  had  been  made  to  bear  at  the  hands 
of  their  enemies. 

Leaving  his  companion,  Humphries,  comfortably  cared  for  in  the 
hall,  along  with  Miss  Barbara  Walton,  the  maiden  sister  of  the 
colonel,  Major  Singleton  proceeded  at  once  to  the  apartment  where 
his  uncle  continued  to  chafe  in  his  many  bewilderments  of  situation. 
He  found  him  pacing  hurriedly  along  the  room,  his  strides  duly 
increasing  in  length  with  the  increasing  confusion  of  his  thoughts. 
These  occasionally  found  their  way  to  his  lips  in  soliloquizing  speech, 
and  now  and  then  took  on  them  a  shape  of  passionate  denunciation. 
Too  much  absorbed  for  the  time  to  notice  the  appearance  of  his 
nephew,  he  continued  to  mutter  over  his  discontents,  and  in  this 
way  conveyed  to  the  major  a  knowledge  of  his  precise  feelings. 
The  latter  stood  quietly  at  the  entrance,  for  a  few  moments,  survey 
ing  his  uncle  (himself  unseen),  and  listening  to  the  angry  ejacula 
tions,  with  which,  from  time  to  time,  he  broke  the  silence,  to  give 
expression  to  his  words.  He  listened  with  real  pleasure.  Familiar 
as  he  was  with  his  uncle's  character,  Major  Singleton  had  properly 
estimated  the  effect  upon  him  of  Clinton's  proclamation,  and  he 
now  came  forward  seasonably  to  his  assistance.  The  colonel  turned 
as  he  drew  nigh,  and,  for  a  moment,  the  pleasurable  emotion  with 
which  he  met  the  son  of  his  sister,  and  one  who  had  long  been 
a  very  great  favourite  with  himself,  drove  away  many  of  the  trouble 
some  thoughts  which  had  been  busy  with  his  mind. 

"Ah,  Robert! — rny  dear  boy !  when  did  you  arrive,  and  how  ?" 

"  On  horseback,  sir.     I  reached  Dorchester  yesterday." 

"  Indeed  ?  so  long — and  only  now  a  visitor  of  '  The  Oaks  ?'  You 
surely  mean  to  lodge  with  us,  Robert?" 

"  Thank  you,  uncle  ;  but  that  I  dare  not  do.  I  should  not  feel 
myself  altogether  safe  here." 

"  Not  safe  in  my  house  !  What  mean  you,  nephew  ?  Whence 
the  danger — what  have  you  to  fear  ?" 

"  Nothing  to  fear,  if  I  avoid  the  danger.  You  forget,  sir,  that  I 
not,  the  security  of  British  favour— I  have  not  (he  talisman  of 


WALTON    AND   SI^GLETO.N.  147 

Clinton's  protection— and  if  suspected  to  be  Major  Singleton,  T 
should  risk  the  rope  as  a  rebel." 

"True,  true — but,  how  loft  you  things  atSautee?  What  are  the 
prospects  of  a  crop  ?" 

"  Such  as  the  storm  leaves  us,  good  uncle.  The  lories  have  been 
sowing  fire  in  my  fields,  and  left  it  to  ripen  in  lieu  of  corn  and  pro 
vender.'' 

"  God  bless  ine,  Robert ! — how  was  that  ?" 

"  They  suspected  me,  hearing  that  I  was  from  home — made  free 
with  my  plate,  burnt  the  mansion,  barn,  and  a  few  other  of  the 
buildings,  drove  the  negroes  into  the  swamp,  and  sent  their  horses 
first,  and  then  the  fire,  into  the  cornfields.  They  have  done  some 
business  there  after  their  usual  fashion." 

The  colonel  strode  over  the  floor,  his  hands  upon  his  brows,  speech 
less  for  a  time,  but  looking  his  deep  interest  in  the  narrative  he  had 
heard,  probably  with  more  earnestness,  as  he  darkly  saw  the  destiny 
of  his  own  fine  dwelling  and  plantation  in  it.  His  nephew  surveyed 
him  with  exemplary  composure  before  he  continued  the  dialogue. 

"  Yes  ;  it  was  fortunate  that  poor  Emily  came  away  in  season.  A 
week  later,  and  lleaven  only  knows  what  might  have  been  her  suf 
ferings  at  the  hands  of  the  wretches." 

"And  where  is  this  to  end,  Robert?  What  is  to  be  done  ?  Arc 
we  to  have  no  relief  from  Congress? — will  Washington  do  nothing 
for  us  ?" 

"  Can  you  do  nothing  for  Washington  ?  Methinks,  uncle,  ller- 
cules  might  give  you  some  advice  quite  as  fitting  as  that  he  gave 
to  the  wagoner.  There  is  no  helping  one's  neighbour  to  freedom. 
Men  must  make  themselves  free — they  must  have  the  will  for  it. 
The  laws  and  the  strong  arm,  unless  they  grow  out  of  their  own 
will,  never  vet  gave,  and  never  will  give,  any  people  their  liberty. 
Have  you  not  thought  of  this  before,  good  uncle  ?" 

"Why,  what  would  you  have  us  do? — what  can  we  do,  hemiiK-d 
in  as  we  are,  wanting  arms  and  ammunition,  and  with  a  superior 
force  watching  us  ?" 

''  l>o  ? — ay,  you  may  well  ask  what  can  you  do.  What  has  any- 
t>ody  ever  yet  done,  that  set  forth  by  asking  such  a  question  ?  l$ut 
some,  vre  will  to  supper  first;  there  stands  our  summoner.  We 


148  THE   PARTISAN. 

will  try  aunt  Barbara's  coffee,  of  which  I  have  an  old  memory,  and 
after  that  we  will  talk  of  what  we  can  do  in  this  matter.  Coffee  is  a 
good  stimulant,  that  wonderfully  helps  one's  courage." 

Following  the  black,  who  had  thrice  summoned  them  without  re 
ceiving  any  attention,  they  descended  to  the  supper-table,  spread  out 
after  the  southern  fashion,  with  the  hundred  dainties  of  the  region, 
— rice-waffles  and  johnny-cake,  hominy,  and  those  delicacies  of  the 
pantry  in  the  shape  of  sweetmeats  and  preserves,  which  speak  of  a 
wholesome  household  economy,  the  fashion  of  which  is  not  yet 
gone  from  the  same  neighbourhood.  There,  presiding  in  all  the  dig 
nity  of  starched  coif,  ruff,  and  wimple,  sat  stiffly  the  antique  person 
of  Miss  Barbara  Walton,  the  maiden  sister  of  the  colonel ;  there, 
also,  in  his  homespun  coat,  turned  up  at  the  sleeves,  and  with  hands 
that  were  not  idle,  our  old  acquaintance,  Humphries,  listening  pa 
tiently,  all  the  while,  to  a  bitter  complaint  of  Miss  Barbara  about 
the  diminished  and  daily  diminishing  number  of  her  brother's  best 
cows,  the  loss  of  which  could  only  be  ascribed  to  the  tories.  Be 
side  him  sat  the  fair  Kate  Walton,  amused  with  the  efforts  which 
Humphries  made,  while  equally  desirous  to  do  the  supper  justice, 
and  to  appear  attentive  to  the  ancient  lady.  And  there,  reclining 
ori  a  sofa  at  some  little  distance  from  the  table,  lay  the  attenuated 
figure  of  Emily  Singleton — pale  as  a  white  rose,  and,  as  if  her 
thoughts  were  fast  claiming  kindred  with  heaven,  almost  as  silent  as 
one.  Major  Singleton  had  a  seat  assigned  him  fronting  Ir's  cousin ; 
and  the  little  chit-chat  which  followed  his  and  his  uncle's  entrance 
was  duly  suspended  with  the  progress  of  the  repast.  To  travellers 
who  had  toiled  so  much  during  the  day  as  Singleton  and  his  lieu 
tenant,  the  supper  was  an  item  of  importance,  and  we  need  not  say 
that  it  received  full  justice  at  their  hands.  It  was  only  when  roused 
into  consciousness  by  the  very  absence  of  all  speech  around  them, 
that  the  soldiers  looked  up,  in  a  brief  pause  in  their  progress,  and 
found  that  they  alone  had  been  busy.  This  fact  offered  no  stop, 
however,  to  their  continued  industry — to  that  of  Humphries,  at  least. 

''Them  are  mighty  nice  waffles,  now,  major;  they'd  please  you, 
I  reckon." 

Cutl'ee,  one  of  the  black  waiters,  with  the  proper  instinct  of  a  good 
house-servant,  at  once  placed  the  dish  before  the  speaker  himself, 


FOK    HOW    LONG—HOW    LONG?  149 

an«i  In8  piate  received  a  new  supply.  Singleton  kept  him  company, 
and  the  host  trifled  with  his  coffee,  in  order  to  do  the  same.  Tea 
was  anti-republican  then,  and  only  the  tories  drank  it.  Finding 
that  a  cessation  had  really  taken  place,  Miss  Barbara  commenced 
b'T  interrogatories,  which,  with  sundry  others  put  by  his  cousin 
Kate,  Major  Singleton  soon  answered,  These  matters,  however, 
chiefly  concerned  old  friends  and  acquaintances,  little  domestic 
anecdotes,  and  such  other  subjects  as  the  ladies  usually  delight  to 
engage  in.  More  serious  thoughts  were  in  Colonel  Walton's  mind, 
and  his  questions  had  reference  to  the  public  and  to  the  country — 
the  war  and  its  prospects. 

"  And  now,  Robert,  your  news,  your  news.  You  look  as  if  you 
had  much  more  in  your  budget  of  far  more  importance.  Pray, 
out  with  it,  and  refresh  us.  We  are  only  half  alive  here,  good 
nephew." 

"  Do  you  live  at  all  here,  uncle,  and  how  ?  How  much  breath  is 
permitted  you  by  your  masters  for  your  daily  allowance  1  and,  by- 
the-way,  the  next  question  naturally-is — how  go  on  the  confisca 
tions  ?  You  still  keep  '  The  Oaks,'  I  see ;  but  how  long — how 
long?" 

The  nephew  had  touched  the  key  to  a  harsh  note ;  and  bitter  in 
deed  was  the  tone  and  manner  of  Colonel  Walton,  as  he  replied — 

"  Ay,  how  long — how  long,  indeed,  am  I  to  keep  the  home  of 
mv  fathers — the  old  barony,  one  of  the  very  first  in  the  colony  ?  God 
only  knows  how  soon  the  court  of  sequestration  will  find  it  better 
suited  to  a  stranger  rule ;  and  I  must  prepare  myself,  I  suppose,  for 
some  such  change.  I  cannot  hope  to  escape  very  long,  when  so 
many  suffer  confiscation  around  me." 

"  Fear  not  for  '  The  Oaks,'  uncle,  so  long  as  you  keep  cool,  sub 
mit,  .swear  freely,  and  subscribe  humbly.  Send  now  and  then  a 
trim  present  of  venison  and  turkey  to  the  captain's  quarters,  and 
occasionally  volunteer  to  hang  a  poor  countryman,  who  loves  war 
to  the  knife  better  than  degradation  in  a  foreign  chain.  There  can 
be  no  difficulty  in  keeping  'The  Oaks,'  uncle,  if  you  only  continue 
to  keep  your  temper." 

"  Nay,  Robert,  sarcasm  is  unnecessary  now,  and  with  me :  1  need 
uo  reproaches  of  vours  to  make  me  feel  in  this  matter." 
7 


150  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  What,  uncle,  are  you  in  that  vein  ?  Have  your  eyes  been 
opened  to  the  light  at  last  ?" 

"  Somewhat,  Robert — but  a  truce  to  this  for  the  present.  Let  'is 
have  your  intelligence  from  Santee.  They  talk  here  of  some  risings 
in  that  quarter,  but  we  have  no  particulars,  and  know  nothing  of 
the  success  of  either  party.  There  is  also  some  story  of  approach 
ing  continentals.  Has  Congress  really  given  us  an  army  ?  and  who 
is  to  command  it  ?  Speak,  boy  ;  out  with  your  budget." 

"  Thank  you,  good  mine  uncle;  but  how  know  I  that  1  unfold 
my  budget  to  a  friend,  and  not  to  an  enemy  ?  What  security  do 
you  give  me  that  I  talk  not  with  a  devout  and  loyal  subject  of  his 
majesty — so  very  much  a  lover  of  the  divine  right  of  kings,  that 
he  would  freely  lend  a  hand  to  run  up  his  own  nephew  fo  a 
swinging  bough,  the  better  to  compel  the  same  faith  in  others  ?" 

"  Pshaw  !  Robert,  you  speak  idly :  you  mean  not  to  suppose  me 
a  tory  ?" 

The  brow  of  Colonel  WTalton  darkened  awfully  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  have  little  faith  in  neutrals,"  was  the  calm  reply  ;  "  I  hold  to 
the  goodly  whig  proverb,  '  He  who  is  not  for  me,  is  against  me.1 
Pardon  me,  therefore,  uncle,  if  I  prefer — I  who  am  a  whig — to 
speak  to  you,  who  are  neither  whig  nor  Englishman,  after  such  a 
fashion  as  shall  not  make  you  the  keeper  of  unnecessary  secrets, 
and  expose  a  good  cause  to  overthrow,  and  its  friends  to  injury." 

The  taunt  thus  uttered  with  a  most  provoking  and  biting  dryness 
of  phrase,  operated  strongly  upon  the  mind  of  the  colonel,  already 
aoted  upon,  in  no  small  degree,  by  his  own  previous  rebukings  of 
conscience  to  the  same  effect.  He  exclaimed  bitterly,  as,  rising 
'j-oin  the  supper-table,  he  strode  away  under  the  momentary 
impulse — 

"  Ay,  by  heaven  !  but  your  words  are  true.  Who  should  esteem 
'Jie  neutral,  when  his  country  is  in  danger,  and  when  her  people  are 
writhing  under  oppression  ?  True,  though  bitter — more  bitter,  a.> 
ft  is  too  true.  Robert  Singleton,  ihou  hast  given  me  a  keen  stroke, 
boy,  but  1  have  deserved  it.  Thou  hast  spoken  nothing  but  the 
truth." 

"  Now,  indeed,  uncle,  I  rejoice  to  see  you,  and  in  this  humour. 
You  have  felt  the  stroke  at  last,  but  it  is  not  my  speech  that  ha* 


GOOD   SIR   HENRY   CLINTON.  151 

done  it,  uncle  of  mine.  It  is  the  proclamation  of  Sir  Henry 
Clinton." 

The  youth  fixed  his  eye  keenly,  as  he  spoke,  upon  the  face  of 
Colonel  Walton,  while  his  glance  indicated  a  sort  of  triumphant 
joy,  finely  contrasted  with  the  disquietude  and  vexing  indignation 
strongly  legible  upon  the  face  of  his  uncle. 

"  You  are  right  there,  too,  Robert.  I  confess  not  to  have  thought 
so  seriously  upon  this  matter — not,  certainly,  so  much  to  the  point 
— as  after  hearing  the  contents  of  that  dishonourable  instrument 

O 

of  Sir  Henry  Clinton — God  curse  him  for  it!" 

"  (rod  bless  him  for  it,  I  say,  if  for  nothing  else  that  he  has  done," 
immediately  rejoined  the  nephew.  "My  prayers  have  been  heard 
in  that  ;  and  Jiis  proclamation  of  the 'tyrant  is  the  very  best  thing 
that  he  could  have  done  for  our  cause  and  country,  and  the  very 
thing  that  I  have  most  prayed  for." 

"  Indeed  !  Major  Singleton,  you  surprise  me.  What  should  there 
be  so  very  grateful  to  you — so  worthy  of  your  prayers  and  acknow 
ledgment, — in  this  proceeding  of  Sir  Henry  Clinton  ?"  inquired 
the  other,  with  something  more  of  stiffness  and  hauteur  in  his 
manner. 

"Much,  Colonel  Walton,  very  much.  As  a  true  patriot,  and  a 
lover  of  his  country  at  every  hazard,  I  prayed  that  the  time  might 
soon  come,  when  the  oppressor  should  put  his  foot,  aye,  and  the  foot 
of  his  menials,,  too — on  the  necks  of  those  selfish  or  spiritless,  those 
too  little  wise,  or  too  little  honourable,  who  have  been  so  very  ready 
to  hug  his  knee,  and  yield  up  to  a  base  love  for  security  their  manly 
character  and  honest  independence.  Verily,  they  meet  with  their 
reward.  Let  them  feel  the  scourge  and  chain,  until,  beaten  and 
degraded,  the  stern  necessity  shall  stimulate  them  to  the  duties  they 
have  so  neglected.  I  rejoice  in  their  desperation — I  rejoice  when  I 
hear  them  groan  beneath  the  oppression — not  only  because  they 
rrerit  such  reward  but  because  it  makes  them  stronger  in  our  cause.'' 

"  How  know  you  that  ?"  quickly  said  the  other. 

"How  know  I  that?  Let  me  answer  that  question  by  another 
more  direct.  Will  Colonel  Walton  be  able  any  longer  to  keep  the 
quiet  security  of  his  plantation,  to  hug  his  grounds,  save  his  crops, 
urn!  keep  his  negroes  from  the  West  Indies,  without  military  s*r- 


162  THE    PARTISAN. 

rice — active  military  service,  and  against  his  countrymen  too — 
against  his  avowed  principles?" 

The  colonel  strode  the  room  impatiently.    The  other  continued — 

"  No,  no,  good  uncle,  you  have  no  help.  Karl  Cornwallis  com 
pels  you  to  your  duty.  You  must  buckle  on  the  sword — you  must 
take  up  arms  for  or  against  your  people,  and  in  either  case  at  the 
expense  of  all  that  comfortable  quiet  for  which  you  have  already 
made  quite  too  many  sacrifices.  I  know  you  too  well  to  suppose 
that  you  can  fight  against  our  people — your  people  ;  and  I  am  glad 
therefore  that  you  are  forced  into  the  field.  How  many  thousands 
are  in  your  condition !  how  many  that  look  up  to  you,  influenced 
by  your  example !  Will  these  not  be  moved  in  like  manner  and 
by  like  necessities  ?  You  .will  see — we  shall  have  an  army  of  native 
citizens  before  many  days." 

"  Perhaps  so,  Robert,  and  I  am  not  too  timid  to  wish  that  such 
may  be  its  effect.  But  is  it  not  a  dishonourable  deception  that  he 
has  practised  in  this  movement  ?  Did  not  the  protections  promise 
us  immunity  in  this  particular  ?" 

"  No,  sir — I  think  not.  I  see  nothing  that  Clinton  has  done  in 
this  so  very  grievous.  Your  protection  secured  you,  as  a  citizen,  to 
conform  to  the  duties  of  the  citizen,  and  to  protect  you  as  such. 
One  of  the  duties  of  the  citizen  is  the  performance  of  militia 
service." 

"  Granted,  Robert — but  commutable  by  fine.  I  am  not  unwil 
ling  to  pay  this  fine ;  but  Clinton's  proclamation  insists  only  on 
the  duty." 

"  And  I  am  glad  of  it.  Uncle,  uncle,  do  you  not  see  the  dis 
honourable  character  of  such  an  argument !  Your  conscience  for 
bids  that  you  should  serve  against  your  country,  but  you  avoid  this 
actual  service  in  your  own  person,  by  paying  the  money  which  buys 
a  mercenary  to  do  the  same  duty.  You  will  not  do  murder  with 
your  own  hand,  but  you  pay  another  to  perform  the  crime.  Shame ! 
Bhame,  I  say !" 

"  Not  so,  Robert ;  we  know  not,  and  I  believe  not,  that  the  money 
is  so  appropriated.  It  becomes  the  spoil  of  the  leaders,  and  simply 
helps  them  to  fortune." 

"  Granted,  and  the  sterner  argument  against  you  is  yot  to  come. 


MORALS   OF   MONEY.  158 

You  are  wealthy,  and  avail  yourself  of  your  good  fortune  to  buy 
yourself  out  of  a  danger  to  which  the  poor  man  must  submit.  By 
what  right  would  you  escape  from  and  evade  your  duties,  when  lie, 
as  a  citizen,  having  the  same,  must  submit  to  their  performance ! 
Mis  conscience,  like  your  own,  teaches  him  that  to  fight  for  his 
country  and  against  her  invaders  is  his  first  duty.  You  evade  your 
duty  by  the  help  oi»  your  better  fortune,  and  leave  him,  as  in  the 
present  instance,  either  to  perish  hopelessly  in  unequal  contest — 
unequal  through  your  defection — or  to  take  up  arms  in  a  battle  to 
which  his  principles  are  foreign.  Such  is  the  effect  of  this  most 
unpatriotic  reservation,  which,  on  the  score  of  your  money,  you  have 
presumed  to  make.  You  sacrifice  your  country  doubly,  when  you 
contribute  to  violate  the  conscience  of  its  citizens.  The  duties  of 
the  rich  man — the  leading,  influential  man — are  those  chiefly  of 
example.  What  is  our  safety,  and  where  would  be  the  safety  of  any 
nation — its  freedom  or  its  glory — if,  when  danger  came,  its  rich 
citizens  made  terms  with  the  invader  which  sacrificed  the  poor  ? 
Such  is  your  case — such  your  proceeding  exactly.  There  is  now, 
thank  Heaven,  but  one  alternative  that  Clinton's  proclamation  has 
left  you." 

"That  is  the  sword — I  know  it,  I  feel  it,  Robert." 
"  Touch  it  not,  touch  it  not,  dear  uncle,  I  pray  you.     Forbear  the 
sword — the  bloody  smiting  sword.     Submit  rather  to  the  oppression. 
Touch  it  not." 

Such  was  the  adjuration  of  the  feeble  girl  who  lay  gasping  on  the 
sofa.  Her  eyes  were  illuminated  with  a  holy  fire  ;  her  cheeks,  pale, 
almost  transparent,  shone,  white  and  glittering,  with  a  spiritual  glory, 
from  the  pillow  on  which  her  head  was  resting ;  while  one  of  her 
long,  taper  fingers  was  stretched  forward  with  an  imploring  earnest 
ness.  She  had  been  a  silent  listener  with  the  rest  to-  the  warm  and 
deeply  important  dialogue  which  had  been  going  on.  The  novelty 
of  the  difficulty — for  they  had  not  heard  of  the  proclamation  before 
— had  kept  them  dumb  until  that  moment,  when  Colonel  Walton, 
as  one  having  come  to  a  settled  conclusion,  had  referred  to  the 
sword  as  a  last  alternative.  The  gentle  spirit  of  Emily  Singleton, 
quick,  sensitive,  though  frail  and  fleeting,  then  poured  forth  its  feeble 
uotos,  iu  order  to  arrest  the  decision. 


154  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  Oli,  touch  not  the  sword,  uncle,  I  pray  you— the  keen  sword, 
that  cuts  away  the  happy  life,  and  murders  the  blessed,  and  the 
blessing,  peace — the  pence  of  the  innocent,  the  peace  of  the  young 
and  good.  Oh,  Robert,  wherefore  have  you  come  with  these  fierce 
words?  Is  there  to  be  no  end  to  strife — the  bloody  and  the  brutal 
strife — the  slaying  of  men — the  trampling  of  God's  creatures  in  the 
du*t  ?" 

li  Why,  sister — dear  Emily — but  how  can  we  help  it  ?  We  must 
fight  our  enemies,  or  they  will  trample  on  us  the  more." 

"  I  see  not  that:  better  let  them  rob  and  plunder;  but  take  not 
life,  risk  not  life.     Life  is  holy.     None  should  take  life  but  him  who;! 
gives   it,  since   to  take  life  takes  away  from  man,  not  only  the; 
privilege  to  breathe,  but  the  privilege  to  repent  of  sins,  to  repair  in-1: 
justice,  to  make  himself  fit  for  immortality.     When  you  slay  your 
enemy,  you  send  him  not  merely  from  one  world — you  send  him 
into  another — and  which  ?      Oh,  brother,  dear  brother,  wherefore, 
would  you  engage  in  this  horrid  war  ?     What  blessing  so  great  will 
it  bring  you,  as  to  take  from  you  the  thought  of  the  butchery  you 
must  go  through  to  secure  it  ?     Oh,  turn  not  away,  Robert,  but  hear 
me  !     I  would  not  vex  you,  nor  would  T  now  speak  of  things  beyond  i 
my  poor  ability ;  but  can  you  not  avoid  this  fighting,  this  hewing ; 
down  of  man,  this  defacing  of  God's  image,  this  defiling  and  death 
of  the  goodliest  work  of  Heaven  ?     I  know,  Robert,  you  have  a  truel 
heart,  and  love  not  such  an  employment — say  to  me,  and  I  wilH 
believe  you — can  you  not  avoid  it  ?" 

She  sank  back  nearly  exhausted.      Her  breath  flickered,  and  the  - 
glow   which    now   overspread   her   cheek   was,   if  possible,   morajl 
threatening  in  its  aspect  than  the  death-like  paleness  which  habitu 
ally  rested  there.      Her  prostration  called  for  the  quick  attention.! 
of  her  cousin,  and  as  Katharine  Walton  bent  over  her,  and  herr 
.brother  knelt  beside  her,  a  momentary  fear  came  upon  them  both, 
that  the  effort  she  had  made  had  destroyed  her.      But  a  deep  sigh 
indicated  the  returning  consciousness,  and  the  strange,  spiritual  light 
ascended  once  more  into  and  rekindled  her  eyes.     She  saw  who  > 
were  immediately  beside  her ;  and  there  was  something  of  a  smile- 
of  joy,  as  she  beheld  the  two,  so  closely  associated  in   her   love, 
whom,  of  all  the  world,  she  desired  to  see  more  immediately  linked* 


\VlMMi    TO    J5K,    KKSISTKO.  155 

together.  Katharine  understood  the  glance:,  and  rising  from  her 
kneeling  position,  extricated  her  hand,  which  lay  partly  under  (hat 
of  Robert,  on  the  back  of  the  sofa.  The  movement  recalled  the 
thoughts  of  Emily  from  the  new  direction  which  they  had  taken, 
and  she  now  recurred  to  the  unfinished  topic. 

"  I  will  trust  your  assurance,  brother,  as  I  know  your  gentlene.sB 
of  feeling.  May  you  not  escape  this  bloody  employment  ?  for  my 
poor  thought  fails  to  perceive  the  good  or  the  glory  which  can  come 
of  the  distresses  of  humanity." 

"  It  would  be  shame,  Emily,  deep  shame  and  dishonour  to  avoid 
it;  and,  indeed,  it  may  not  be  avoided.  The  persecutor  pursues 
when  you  fly,  and  he  tramples  even  more  freely  when  you  resist 
not.  It  is  in  the  nature  of  injustice  and  wrong  to  grow  insolent 
with  impunity;  and  the  dishonour  must  rest  on  him,  who,  being 
himself  strong,  looks  unmoved  on  the  sufferings  of  the  weak,  and 
withholds  his  succour.  Believe  me,  dear  Emilv,  I  love  not  this 
strife  ;  but  defence  of  our  country  is  war  under  God's  own  sanction, 
since  it  seeks  to  maintain  free  from  blood  and  from  injustice  the 
home  which  he  has  given  to  the  peaceful." 

"  You  shall  not  persuade  me  of  it,  Robert,"  was  the  reply  of  the 
dying  maiden.  "  You  will  have  your  arguments,  I  know,  and  they 
will  seem  wise  on  your  lips,  and  I  may  not  be  able  to  answer  them 
from  mine.  But  shall  I  believe  in  any  argument  of  man,  however 
plausible,  when  the  words  of  God  are  so  positive  ?  He  has  forbidden 
strife,  forbidden  iif.i  Vengeance  is  mine,  saith  the  Lord." 

"But  self-defence  and  vengeance,  dear  Emily,  are  very  different 
things." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right  there ;  and  I  did  not  use  the  right  word,  nor 
refer  to  the  proper  command.  'Thou  shall  do  no  Tnurder.'  " 

"  But  self-defence  is  not  murder,"  was  the  answer  to  this. 

"  Ah  !  still  I  err  !  I  am  too  poor  in  wit  and  wisdom  to  maintain 
this  or  any  argument.  But  strife  is  forbidden,  and  war  and  violence  : 
and  smitton  on  one  cheek,  we  are  commanded  to  submit  the  other.'1 

"Ah!  Emily,  you  only  prove  how  impossible  it  is,  in  the  present 
state  of*the  world,  to  be  a  Christian." 

"Alas!  for  the  world,  that  it  should  be  so  !  Yet  I  fear  that  you 
are  right.  But  I  must  cease.  I  can  only  pray  for  you,  Robert 


156  THE    PARTISAN. 

God  prosper  yon,  my  brother,  in  your  cause,  and  koep  you  from 
danger  beneath  the  shelter  of  his  holy  arm.  If  you  orr,  rny  brother 
I  know  that  you  err  humanly,  and  may  Heaven  be  indulgent  to  ali 
our  errors." 

She  motioned  to  Katharine  Walton,  and  pointed  to  the  Bible  upon 
the  table.  Katharine  opened  it,  and  prepared  to  read.  The 
company  was  instantly  hushed.  A  lesson  from  the  Psalms  formed 
the  exercise  for  the  night.  Sweetly,  softly,  unaffectedly,  yet  very 
clearly,  the  tones  of  Katharine's  voice  rose,  and  filled  the  apartment, 
while  she  gave  due  effect  to  the  earnest,  lyrics  of  the  inspired 
psalmist.  At  the  close,  the  brief  sentence,  so  soft,  so  solemn — ''  Let 
us  pray !" — from  the  same  sweet  speaker,  brought  the  whole  family 
in  silence  to  their  knees.  And  the  humble  prayer  was  offered  up, 
from  sweet  lips  and  a  gentle  spirit,  in  behalf  of  the  Avild  and  erring. 

Yielding  a  kiss  to  the  fond  pressure  of  her  brother's  lips,  Emily 
Singletou  was  assisted  to  her  chamher  on  the  arms  of  her  loveh 
toufiin. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

'*  I  may  not  listen  now.  How  should  we  IIM 
The  song  of  birds,  wlieu,  in  the  stormy  bky, 
Rolls  the  rude  tiiuuderV" 

THE  lalies  had  retired,  but  it  was  not  easy  for  Singleton  and 
•his  uncle  to  resume  the  topic  which  had  previously  engaged  them. 
There  was  a  visible  damp  upon  their  spirits — the  elastic  nephew, 
the  hesitating  colonel,  the  rough,  honest,  and  direct  Humphries, 
all  felt  the  passionate  force  of  Emily's  exhortation,  though  its  argu 
ment  necessarily  failed  upon  them.  There  had  been  quite  too 
much  that  was  awing  in  her  speech  and  manner — as  if  death  were 
speaking  through  the  lips  of  life.  Their  thoughts  had  been 
elevated  by  her  language  to  a  theme  infinitely  beyond  the  hourly 
and  the  earthly.  The  high-sonled  emphasis  with  which  she  had 
insisted  upon  the  integrity  of  human  life,  as  essential  to  the  due 
preparation  for  the  future  immortality,  had  touched  the  sensibility 
of  those  whose  vocation  was  at  hostility  with  the  doctrine  which 
she  taught ;  and  though,  from  the  very  nature  of  things,  they  could 
not  obey  her  exhortations,  they  yet  could  not  fail  to  meditate 
upon,  and  to  feel  them. 

Thus  impressed,  silent  and  uuobserviug,  it  was  a  relief  to  all, 
when  Major  Singleton,  shaking  off  his  sadness  with  an  effort,  re 
minded  Humphries  of  the  promise  which  he  had  presumed  to 
make  him,  touching  the  old  Madeira  in  his  uncle's  garret.  He 
briefly  told  the  latter  of  the  circumstance  alluded  to,  and  the 
prompt  orders  of  Colonel  Wajton  soon  brought  the  excellence  of 
his  wines  to  the  impartial  test  to  which  Humphries  proposed  to 
subject  them. 

The  lieutenant  smacked  his  lips  satisfactorily.     It  was  not  often 
that  his  fortune  had  indulged  him  with  such  a  beverage.     Corn 
wninkey,  at,  best,  had  been  his  liquor  in  the  swamps  ;  and,  even  io 
7* 


158  n;i' 

his  father's  tavern,  the  tastes  were  not  sufficiently  hign,  of  those 
who  patronized  that  establishment,  to  call  for  other  than  the 
cheapest  qualities.  A  brief  dialogue  about  the  favourite  wines — a  sly 
reference  on  the  part  of  Singleton  to  the  drinking  capacities  of  his 
Uritish  guests,  and  a  hypocritical  sort  of  condolence  upon  the  pri- 
\  ulions  to  which  his  uncle  must  be  subjected,  in  consequence  of 
ilie  proclamation,  soon  brought  the  latter  back  to  the  legitimate 
topic. 

"  l!ut  what  news,  Robert,  do  you  bring  us?  What  of  the  con 
tinentals — is  it  true  that  we  are  to  have  an  army  from  Virginia, 
or  is  it  mere  rumour  ? — a  thing  to  give  us  hope,  only  the  more 
completely  to  depress  and  mortify  ?  Speak  out,  man,  and  none . 
of  your  inuendoes — you  know  well  enough  that  I  am  with  you, 
body  and  soul." 

'•  I  believe  you  will  be,  uncle,  but  you  certainly  are  not  yet: 
With  the  hope,  however,  to  make  you  so  more  completely,  I  will 
give  you  news  that  shall  cheer  you  up,  if  you  have  the  heart  to 
hope  for  a  favourable  change  of  things.  It  is  no  mere  rumour, 
sir,  touching  the  northern  army.  Congress  has  remembered  us  at 
last,  and  the  continentals  are  actually  under  way,  and  by  this  time 
must  be  on  the  borders  of  North  Carolina." 

"  Indeed  !  that  is  well,"  cried  the  colonel,  chuckling,  and  rub 
bing  his  hands — "  this  is  good  news,  indeed,  Robert,  and  may 
help  us  somewhat  out  of  our  difficulties." 

"  Not  so,  Colonel  Walton,  if  it  please  yon.  It  will  help  you  out 
of  no  difficulties,  if  you  are  not  willing  to  lend  a  hand  for  that 
purpose.  Congress  cannot  afford  an  army — it  can  only  give  us 
the  nucleus  for  one ;  some  fifteen  hundred  men  at  the  utmost, 
and  but  half  of  these  continentals.  Wre  have  the  Delaware  and 
Maryland  lines — brave  troops,  indeed — among  the  very  bravest 
that  Washington  commands — but  few,  too  few  for  our  purpose, 
unless  we  ourselves  turn  out." 

"  Wrho  commands  them,  Robert  ?" 

"  De  Kalb  while  on  the  march  ;  but,  if  we  need  men,  and  if  our 
arms  are  few,  the  name  of  our  commander  is  a  host  for  us.  7*u« 
conqueror  of  Burgoyne  at  Saratoga  has  been  ordered  from  Yirgiui* 
to  lead  them." 


CUNTJ-NEVIALS   COMING.  169 

"  What,  Gate'  !  that  is  brave  news,  truly — bravo  news— and  we 
hall  do  well  fo  wish  him  success  in  another  glass  of  Madeira. 
Jorne,  Mr.  Humphries — corne,  sir — you  see  Proctor  lias  left  us  some 
>f  the  genuine  stuff  yet — enough  for  friends,  at  least," 

"Ay,  sir,"  said  Humphries,  drinking,  "and  this  news  of  the  con- 
inentals  promises  that  we  have  enough  also  for  our  enemies." 

"  Bravo  !  I  hope  so  ;  1  think  so.  Nephew,  drink  ;  drink — and 
ay,  what  has  been  the  effect  of  this  intelligence  upon  the  people  ? 
low  has  it  wrought  upon  the  Santee  ?" 

"  Everywhere  well,  uncle,  and  as  it  should,  unless  it  be  immedi 
ately  in  your  neighbourhood,  where  you  breathe  by  sufferance  only. 
Everywhere  well,  sir.  The  people  are  roused,  inspirited,  full  of  hope 
and  animation.  The  country  is  alive  with  a  new  sentiment.  Noi 
is.  its  influence  confined  only  to  the  hopes  of  friends  :  it  has  had  its 
effect  upon  the  fears  of  enemies.  Kawdon  already  feels  it,  and  has 
drawn  in  all  his  outposts.  He  keeps  now  those  of  Ninety-Six, 
Camden,  and  Augusta  only.  He  is  concentrating  his  force  against 
the  coming  of  Gates,  whose  first  blow  must  be  against  his  lordship. 
Ihis  concentration  has  given  opportunity  to  our  people,  and  oppor 
tunity  gives  them  courage.  The  Sante.e  and  the  Pedee  countries 
we  full  of  whigs,  only  wanting  embodiment  to  prove  effective. 
Colonel  Sumter  has  returned  from  North  Carolina,  with  a  growing 
troop  which  threatens  Ninety-Six  itself." 
"  And  Marion  ?" 

"  Aye,  Marion — from  him  I  bring  you  better  news  yet,  when  I 
X.-.11  you  that  1  left  him  on  Briton's  Neck,  where  we  stood  upon  the 
bodies  of  half  of  Gainey's  tories,  whom  we  had  just  defeated  with 
sloody  slaughter — Gaiuey  himself  wounded,  and  his  troop  for  the 
iime  dispersed." 

"  Better  and  better,  Robert ;  and  I  rejoice  that  you  had  a  hand 
n  the  business.  But  what,  in  all  this  time,  of  that  sanguinary 
•icier,  Tarleton  ?  What  keeps  him  quiet — what  is  he  doing  ? 
Surely,  with  a  taste  like  his,  the  very  knowledge  of  these  risings 
ihould  be  grateful." 

"  Doubtless  they  will  be,  when  he  gets  wind  of  them  ;  but  he  is 
low  with  the  cavalry  of  the  legion,  somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood 
>f  Koeky  Mount,  where  Sumter  is  said  to  be  looking  after  him. 


160  THE    PARTISAN. 

Thus,  you  see,  we  are  all  engaged  or  preparing — all  but  you,  of  the 
parishes.  You  either  hug  the  knees  of  your  invaders,  or  sleep  on,  to 
escape  the  sense  of  shame :  all  but  your  Washington,  who,  I  am 
told,  still  contrives  to  keep  his  horse  together,  though  sadly  cut  up 
while  under  White  and  Baylor." 

"  True,  true, — our  people  here  are  but  too  much  disposed  to  sub 
mission.  They  have  given  up  in  despair  long  since." 

"  I  reckon  that's  a  small  mistake,  colonel,"  said  Humphries,  inter 
rupting — "  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  but  I  rather  think  it's  not  exactly  as 
you  say.  I  don't  think  our  people  any  more  willing  to  submit  than 
the  people  on  Black  River  and  Pedee,  but  it's  all  because  we  han't 
got  leaders  ;  that's  the  reason,  colonel.  I  know,  of  my  own  kr.o\v- 
ledge,  there's  any  number  will  turn  out,  if  you'll  only  crook  fi  finger 
and  show  'em  the  track  ;  but  it's  not  reasonable  to  expect  poor  men, 
who  have  never  ruled  before,  to  take  the  lead  of  great  people  in 
time  of  danger." 

Humphries  spoke  up,  and  spoke  justly  for  the  honour  of  his 
neighbours.  Singleton  continued,  when  his  lieutenant  concluded — 

"  He  speaks  truly,  Colonel  Walton,  as  I  can  testify.  What  if  I 
tell  you  that  your  people — here,  under  your  own  eye — are  not  only 
ready  to  take  up  arms,  but  that  many  of  them  are  in  arms ! — more, 
sir, — that  they  have  already  done  service  in  your  own  neighbour 
hood,  and  are  ready  to  do  more — that  a  promising  squad,  under  my 
command,  now  lies  upon  your  own  river,  and  that,  in  a  few  days,  T 
hope  to  join  Colonel  Marion  with  a  troop  of  fifty  men,  gathered 
from  among  your  own  parishioners  !  These  are  the  people  who  are 
so  willing  to  submit,  according  to  your  account ;  pray  you,  uncle, 
never  write  their  history." 

"  Robert,  you  surprise  inc." 

"  Pleasantly,  I  hope,  mine  uncle — it  is  the  truth.  The  whole  waa 
planned  by  Colonel  Marion,  from  whom  I  have  this  duty  in  charge. 
Disguised,  he  has  been  through  your  parish.  Disguised,  he  sat  at 
your  board,  in  the  character  of  a  tory  commissary,  and  your  scorn 
ful  treatment  persuaded  him  to  hope  that  you  might  be  brought 
into  action.  Are  you  staggered  now  ?" 

The  colonel  was  dumb  when  he  heard  this  narrative ;  and  Major 
Singleton  then  proceeded  to  give  a  brief  account  of  the  little  event* 


WALTON    S'llKKED.  161 

of  record  occurrence  in  the  neighbourhood,  as  we  have  already  nar 
rated  them,  subsequently  to  his  assumption  of  command  in  the  Cy 
press  Swamp.  The  story,  though  it  gave  him  pleasure,  was  a  sad 
rebuke  to  Colonel  Walton's  patriotism.  He  scarcely  heard  him  to 
the  end. 

"  Now,  Heaven  help  me,  Robert,  but  I  take  shame  to  myself  that 
you,  almost  a  stranger  upon  the  Ashley,  should  have  thus  taken  the 
lead  out  of  my  own  hand,  as  I  may  say,  and  among  iny  own  peo 
ple." 

"  Tt  is  not  too  late,  uncle,  to  amend  the  error.  You  may  yet  help 
greatly  to  finish  what  has  been  tolerably  well  begun." 

"  No — it  is  not  too  late.  I  can  do  much  with  Dorchester  and 
Goose  Creek.  I  have  influence  throughout  St.  Paul's,  and  great 
part  of  St.  George's.  Cane  Acre  will  come  out  to  a  man." 

Rapidly  moving  to  and  fro  along  the  apartment,  Colonel  Walton 
enumerated  to  himself,  in  under  tones,  the  various  sections  of  coun 
try  in  his  knowledge  which  he  thought  might  be  moved  at  his  in 
stigation.  His  nephew  did  not  suffer  the  mood  of  his  uncle  to 
relax. 

"  Now  is  the  time,  uncle — now  is  the  time,  if  over.  Your  name 
will  do  everything  in  this  quarter  ;  and  you  may  conjecture  for 
yourself,  what  the  shame  must  be,  if  others  achieve  the  work  which 
you  touched  not.  You  have  now  a  glorious  opportunity  at  this 
season  ;  Tstrleton,  whom  they  so  much  dread,  being  absent;  Wemyss 
in  another  direction,  and  your  garrison  so  weak  in  Dorchester  that 
tlvey  cannot  easily  spare  a  detachment.  Besides,  the  approach  of 
Gates  promises  sufficient  employment  to  all  the  force  which  Raw- 
don  and  Cornwallis  can  bring  up." 

"  The  thing  looks  well,"  said  Walton,  musingly. 

*'  Never  better,  if  the  heart  be  firm.  Now  is  the  time,  if  ever — 
beat  up  recruits— sound,  stimulate  your  neighbours,  and  dash  up 
with  as  smart  a  force  as  you  can  possibly  muster  to  join  with  the 
army  from  Virginia.  They  will  receive  you  joyfully,  and  your 
corps  must  increase  with  every  mile  in  your  progress." 

"  Would  I  were  on  the  way  ;  but  the  beginning  is  yet  to  be  made, 
and  on  what  plea  shall  I  seek  to  persuade  others,  without  authority 
myself,  and  knowu  ;is  one  having  taken  protection  i" 


162  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  That  latter  difficulty  is  cured  by  the  assumption  of  a  new 
character.  Destroy  the  one  accursed  instrument,  and,  in  its  place, 
1  am  proud  to  hand  you  a  badge  of  honour  and  of  confidence. 
Look  on  this  paper  and  peruse  this  letter.  The  one  is  from  his 
excellency,  Governor  Rutledge — the  other  from  Colonel  Marioi>, 
Read— read  !" 

Walton  unfolded  the  envelope,  and  the  commission  of  Governor 
Rutledge  as  colonel  of  state  militia  met  his  eye:  the  letter  from 
Colonel  Marion  was.  an  invitation  to  the  service — a  brief,  manly, 
modest  letter ;  such  as  could  only  come  from  Marion — so  calm, 
so  unassuming,  yet  so  conclusive  in  its  exhortations. 

"You  see,  uncle,"  said  the  major,  when  he  saw  that  the  ol)..r 
had  concluded  the  perusal  of  the  documents — "you  see,  1  < ',<>;:.<>. 
not  unprovided.  Both  Rutledge  and  Marion  hold  your  name  of 
sufficient  importance  to  our  cause  to  desire  its  influence ;  aud  they 
would  have  you,  on  any  terms,  emancipate  yourself  from  the  villa- 
nous  bondage — for  it  is  no  less— into  which  you  have  fallen. 
llere,  now,  you  have  an  opportunity,  by  an  honourable,  and,  let  me 
add,  an  atoning  transaction,  of  returning  to  the  service  of  your 
country.  Do  not  let  it  pass  you.  Let  me  not  think,  my  dear  uncle, 
that  my  word,  pledged  for  you  to  Marion,  when  I  undertook  and 
craved  this  commission,  was  pledged  in  vain,  and  is  now  forfeited." 

This  warm  appeal  of  Singleton,  in  the  utterance  of  which  he 
had  discarded  all  that  asperity  whicli  had  kept  pace  with  much  of 
his  share  in  the  previous  dialogue,  was  soothing  to  his  uncle's 
spirit.  He  was  moved ;  and  slowly  again,  though  unconsciously, 
he  read  over  the  letter  of  Marion.  So  high  a  compliment  from  the 
gallant  partisan  was  flattering  in  the  extreme  ;  and  the  trust  of 
Governor  Rutledge,  tendered  at  a  moment  when  he  was  suiieruig 
from  the  smitings  of  conscience,  was  healing  and  grateful.  For  a 
few  moments  he  spoke  not ;  but  at  length  approach  ing  his  nephew, 
he  seized  his  hand,  and  at  once  avowed  the  pleasure  it  gave  him, 
to  avail  himself  of  the  privileges  whicli  the  commission  conferred 
upon  him. 

"  I  will  be  no  longer  wanting  to  my  country,  Robert.  I  will  do 
my  duty.  This  paper  gives  me  power  to  enrol  men,  to  form 
troops,  and  to  act  against  the  enemy,  and  find  my  sanction  in  tfy« 


Fini-lS    OK    FKKKD<m  163 

commission  of  the  executive.  T  will  do  so.  I  will  pause  no  longet, 
and,  spite  of  the  sacrifice,  will  act  as  the  occasion  requires." 

The  countenance  of  Major  Singleton,  and  that  of  Humphries, 
ii.  I  K-ss,  glowed  with  an  honest  pleasure,  as  the  former  replied — 

"  Spoken  as  it  should  be,  Colonel  Walton — spoken  as  it  should 
.'<;.  The  decision  comes  late,  but  not  too  late.  It  is  redeeming, 
and  God  grant  that  it  be  as  prosperous  to  all  as  it  is  surely  proper 
Mid  praiseworthy." 

"  So  I  believe  it,  or  I  would  not  now  adopt  it :  but,  Robert, 
know  you  not  that  such  a  decision  makes  me  a  beggar  ?  Seques 
tration — " 

"  Now,  out  upon  it,  uncle  I  why  will  you  still  ballast  your  good 
works  with  a  weight  which  shall  for  ever  keep  them  from  heaven's 
sight  ?  You  are  no  niggard — you  live  profusely — care  not  for 
money  :  wherefore  this  reference  to  wealth  in  comparison  with 
honour  and  honourable  duty  ?" 

"  The  wealth  is  nothing,  Robert;  but  I  have  a  strange  love  for 
these  old  groves — this  family  mansion,  descended  to  me  like  a 
sacred  trust  through  so  many  hands  and  ancestors.  I  would  not 
that  they  should  be  lost." 

The  youth  looked  sternly  at  the  speaker  for  a  few  moments  in 
silence,  but  the  fierce  emotion  at  length  found  its  way  to  his  lips 
in  tones  of  like  indignation  with  that  which  sparkled  from  his 
eyes. 

1  Now,  by  heaven,  uncle,  had  I  known  of  this — had  I  dreamed 
i.hat  thou  hadst  weighed,  for  an  instant,  the  fine  sense  of  honour 
in  the  scales  against  thy  love  of  this  thy  dwelling-place — my  own 
hand  should  have  ;  ^  lied  the  torch  to  its  shingles.  Dearly  as 
1  have  loved  this  old  .illusion,  I  myself  would  have  freely  kindled 
the  flame  which  should  have  burned  it  to  the  ground.  I  would 
have  watched  the  fire  as  it  swept  through  these  old  trees,  scathing 
and  scattering  the  branches  under  which  I  had  a  thousand  times 

o 

played— I  would  have  beheld  their  ruin  with  a  pleasurable  emo 
tion  ;  and  as  they  fell  successively  to  the  earth  which  they  once 
sheltered,  I  would  have  shouted  in  triumph,  that  I  saved  you 
from  the  dishonourable  bargain  which  you  have  made  for  th«:i 
protection  so  long." 


184  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  But  Kate,  Kate,  Robert ;  my  sweet  child — my  only  child !" 

It  was  all  that,  the  father  said,  but  it  was  enough,  it'  not  to  coil 
vince,  at  least  to  silence,  the  indignant  speaker.  lier  g-ood  was, 
indeed,  a  consideration ;  and  when  Singleton  reflected  upon  the 
tender  care  which  had  kept  her  from  privation  and  sorrow  all  hei 
life  hitherto,  he  could  not  help  feeling  how  natural  was  such  a  con 
sideration  to  the  mind  of  such  a  father. 

But  the  emotion  had  subsided — the  more  visible  portions  of  it, 
at  least ;  and  Colonel  Walton,  his  nephew,  and  Humphries,  en 
gaged  in  various  conversation,  chiefly  devoted  to  tho  labours  that 
lay  before  them,  llaving  gained  his  object,  however,  Major  Singie- 
ton  was  in  no  mood  to  remain  much  longer.  His  duties  were 
various ;  his  little  squad  required  his  attention,  as  he  well  knew 
how  little  subordination  could  be  had  from  raw  militia-men,  unless 
in  the  continued  and  controlling  presence  of  their  commander. 
The  hour  was  growing  late,  and  some  portion  of  his  time  was  due 
to  his  sister  and  the  ladies,  who  awaited  his  coming  in  the  snug 
back  or  family  parlour,  into  which  none  but  the  select  few  ever 
found  admission. 

Leaving  Humphries  in  the  charge  of  Colonel  Walton,  our  hero 
approached  the  quiet  sanctuary  with  peculiar  emotions.  There 
was  a  soft  melancholy  pervading  the  little  circle.  The  moral  in 
fluence  of  such  a  condition  as  that  of  Emily  Singleton  was  touch- 
iugly  felt  by  all  around  her.  The  high-spirited,  the  proud  Katha 
rine  Walton  grew  meek  and  humble,  when  she  gazed  upon  the 
sufferer,  dying  by  a  protracted  and  a  painful  death,  in  the  midst  of 
youth,  rich  in  beauty,  and  with  a  superiority  of  mind  which  might 
well  awaken  admiration  in  the  other,  and  '-nvy  in  her  own  sex. 
Yet  she  was  dying  with  the  mind  alive,  L^r  mexercised ;  a  heart 
warm  with  a  true  affection,  yet  utterly  unappropriated ;  sensibili 
ties  touching  and  charming,  which  had  only  lived,  that  memory 
might  mourn  the  more  over  those  sweets  of  character  so  well  known 
to  enjoyment,  yet  so  little  enjoying. 

It  was  a  thought  to  make  the  proud  heart  humble ;  and  Kate 
looked  upon  her  cousin  with  tearful  eyes.  She  sat  at  her  feet, 
saying  no  word,  while  the  brother  of  the  dying  girl,  hiking  a  place 
beside  her,  lifted  her  head  upon  his  bosom,  where  she  seemed 


THUSDKU    WARNING. 

pleased  thai  it  should  lie,  while  he  pressed  his  lips  fondly  and  fre 
quently  to  her  forehead.  In  murmured  tones,  unheard  by  the  rest, 
she  carried  on  wiih  him  a  little  dialogue,  half  playful,  half  tender 
in  which  she  pressed  him  on  the  subject  of  his  love  for  her  cousin. 
The  mention  of  Kate's  name,  a  little  louder  than  she  usually  spoke, 
called  for  the  latter's  attention,  who  looked  up,  and  a  suffusion  of 
her  cheek  seemed  to  show  a  something  of  consciousness  in  her 
mind  of  what  was  the  subject  between  them.  The  eye  of  Emily 
caught  the  glance,  and  a  smile  of  archness  played  over  her  lips  for 
an  instant,  but  soon  made  way  for  that  earnest  and  settled  melan 
choly  of  look  which  was  now  the  habitual  expression  of  her  face. 
They  continued  to  converse  together,  the  others  only  now  and  then 
mingling  in  the  dialogue,  on  those  various  little  matters  belonging 
to  her  old  home  and  its  associates,  which  a  young  and  gentle  na 
ture  like  hers  would  be  apt  to  remember.  Sometimes,  so  feeble 
was  her  utterance  that  Robert  was  compelled  to  place  his  ear  to 
her  lips  the  better  to  take  in  what  she  said. 

It  was  at  one  of  these  moments  that  a  severe  clap  of  thunder 
recalled  the  major  to  a  sense  of  his  duties.  The  sudden  concussion 
startled  the  nervous  maiden,  and  Kate  came  to  her  assistance,  so 
that  his  hand  was  brought  once  more  in  contact  with  that  of  the 
woman  he  loved,  in  the  performance  of  an  office  almost- too  sacredly 
stern  to  permit  of  the  show  of  that  other  emotion  which  he  ye* 
felt — how  strangely! — in  his  bosom.  The  blood  tingled  and  glowed 
in  his  veins,  and  she,  too — she  withdrew  her  fingers  the  moment 
her  service  could  well  be  dispensed  with.  Another  roll  of  the 
thunder  and  a  message  from  Humphries  warned  Singleton  of  the 
necessity  of  tearing  himself  from  a  scene  only  too  painfully  fascinat 
ing.  He  took  an  affectionate  leave  of  his  aunt,  and  pressing  the 
lips  of  his  sister  fondly,  her  last  words  to  him  were  comprised  in  a 
whisper — 

"  Spare  life—  save  life,  Robert,  when  you  can  :  God  bless  you  1 
and  come  back  to  me  soon." 

Kate  encountered  him  in  the  passage-way.  Her  look  was  some 
thing  troubled,  and  her  visible  emotion  might  have  been  grateful 
to  the  vanity  of  our  hero,  did  he  not  see  how  unusually  covered 
with  g'loom  \\ere  the  features  <>t'  her  face. 


rriF,  PARTISAN*. 

"Dear  Kate — -sweet  cousin — I  must  leave  you  now." 

"I  know  it,  Robert — I  know  more:  you  l.avo  persuaded  in? 
father  to  break  ins  parole." 

"•  I  have  done  my  best  towards  it,  Kate  ;  but  it'  he  has  re-solved, 
the  impulse  was  as  much  his  own  as  from  me.  lie  could  not  well 
l:;ive  avoided  it,  in  the  end,  situated  as  he  was.'' 

"  Perfeaps  not,  Robert;  still,  your  persuasions  have  be«n  the  most 
immediately  urgent ;  and  though  I  dread  the  result,  I  cannot  well 
blame  you  for  what  you  have  done.  I  now  wish  to  know  from 
you,  what  are  the  chances  in  favour  of  his  successful  action.  I  would 
at  least  console  myself  by  their  recapitulation  when  he  is  absent, 
and  perhaps  in  danger." 

Major  Singleton  gave  a  promising  account  of  the  prospects  be 
fore  them ;  such,  indeed,  as  they  appeared  at  that  time  to  the  san 
guine  Americans,  and  needing  but  little  exaggeration  to  persuade. 
She  seemed  satisfied,  and  he  then  proceeded  to  entreat  her  upon  a 
subject  purely  selfish. 

"  Speak  not  now —  not  now  on  such  a  matter.  Have  we  not 
enough.  Robert,  to  trouble  us?  Danger  and  death,  grief  and  many 
apprehensions  hang  over  us,  and  will  not  suffer  such  idle  thoughts," 
was  the  reply. 

"  These  are  no  idle  thoughts,  Kate,  since  they  belong  so  closely 
to  our  happiness.  Say  to  me,  then,  only  say  that  you  love  me." 

li  I  love  you,  indeed — to  be  sure  I  do,  as  a  cousin  and  as  a 
friend  ;  but  really  you  ask  too  much  when  you  crave  for  more.  I 
hftve  no  time,  no  feeling,  for  other  love  in  these  moments." 

"  Nay,  be  serious,  Kate,  and  say.  We  know  not  how  soon  our 
situation  may  change.  I  am  hourly  exposed  in  a  hazardous  service 
—  I  may  perish  ;  and  I  would,  before  such  an  event,  be  secure  in 
the  hope  that  I  may  look  to  you  for  that  love  which  would  make 
me  happy  while  living,  or — " 

She  stopped  him  with  a  cool,  sarcastic  speech,  concluding  the 
sentence  for  him  in  a  manner  most  annoying — 

"  Drop  a  tear  for  me  when  I  am  dead." 

She  saw  that  he  looked  displeased,  and  immediately  after,  with 
an  art  peculiarly  her  own,  she  diverted  his  auger. 

"  Nay,  dear  cou-in,  forgive  m<; ;  but  you  looked  the  conclusion, 


KATE    IS   COOL  167 

ana  so  pathetically,  I  thought  it  not  improbable  that  its  utterance 
would  find  you  speechless.  Be  not  so  tragic,  I  pray  you.  I  am 
serious  enough  as  it  is — soberly  serious,  not  tragically  so.  Be 
reasonable  for  a  while,  and  reflect  that  these  very  vicissitudes  of 
your  present  mode  of  life  should  discourage  you  from  pressing  this 
matter.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  love  you  or  not,  except  as  a 
relation.  It  requires  time  to  make  up  one's  mind  on  the  subject, 
and  trust  me  I  shall  think  of  it  in  season.  But,  just  now,  I  cannot 
— and  hear  me,  Robert,  firmly  and  honestly  I  tell  you,  while  these 
difficulties  last,  while  my  father's  life  is  in  danger,  and  while  your 
sister  lies  in  my  arms  helpless  and  dying,  I  not  only  cannot,  but  will 
not,  attempt  to  answer  you.  Forbear  the  subject,  then,  I  pray  you, 
for  a  better  season  ;  and  remember,  when  I  speak  to  you  thus,  I  speak 
to  you  as  a  woman,  with  some  pretensions  to  good  sense,  who  will 
try  to  think  upon  her  affections  as  calmly  as  upon  the  most  simple 
and  domestic  necessity  of  her  life.  Be  satisfied,  then,  that  you  will 
have  justice." 

Another  summons  from  Humphries  below,  and  a  sudden  rush  of 
wind  along  the  casement,  warned  him  of  the  necessity  of  conclud 
ing  the  interview.  He  had  barely  time  to  press  her  hand  to  his 
lips  when  she  hurried  him  down  to  her  father.  A  few  brief  words 
of  parting,  a  solemn  renewal  of  their  pledges,  and,  in  a  few  mo 
ments,  the  two  partisans  were  on  horse,  speeding  down  the  long 
avenue  on  the  way  to  their  encampment. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

"  Ti»  «  wild  nipm,  yet  thnr«  we  those  abroad 
1Tj«  itnnn  offends  not.    '  ?is  but  oppression  hid**, 
Wbi!e  fear,  the  ucontgt  of  conscience,  lifli  a  whip 
Beyond  Vs  best  capacity  to  fly." 

THE  evening,  -*b.k:ii  had  been  beautiful  before,  had  undergone  a 
change.  The  moon  was  obscured,  and  gigantic  shadows,  dense  and 
winged,  hurried  with  deep-toned  cries  along  the  heavens,  as  if  in 
angry  pursuit.  Occasionally,  in  sudden  gusts,  the  winds  moaned 
heavily  among  the  pines;  a  cooling  freshness  impregnated  the  at 
mosphere,  and  repeated  flashes  of  sharpest  lightning  imparted  to 
the  prospect  a  splendour  which  illuminated,  while  increasing  the 
perils  of  that  path  which  our  adventurers  were  now  pursuing.  Large 
drops,  at  moments,  fell  from  the  driving  clouds,  and  every  thing 
promised  the  coming  on  of  one  of  those  sudden  and  severe  thunder 
storms,  so  common  to  the  early  summer  of  the  South. 

Singleton  looked  up  anxiously  at  the  wild  confusion  of  sky  and 
forest  around  him.  The  woods  seemed  to  apprehend  the  danger,  and 
the  melancholy  sighing  of  their  branches  appeared  to  indicate  an 
instinct  consciousness,  which  had  its  moral  likeness  to  the  feeling  in 
the  bosom  of  the  observer.  How  many  of  these  mighty  pines  were  to 
be  prostrated  under  that  approaching  tempest !  how  many  beauti 
ful  vines,  which  had  clung  to  them  like  affections  that  only  desire 
an  object  to  fasten  upon,  would  share  in  their  ruin  !  How  could 
Singleton  overlook  the  analogy  between  the  fortune  of  his  family 
and  friends,  and  that  which  his  imagination  depicted  as  the  pro 
bable  destiny  of  the  forest? 

"  We  shall  have  it  before  long,  Humphries,  for  you  see  the  black 
horns  yonder  in  the  break  before  us.  I  begin  to  feel  the  warm 
breath  of  the  hurricane  already,  and  we  must  look  out  for  some 
smaller  woods.  I  like  not  these  high  pines  in  a  storm  like  this,  so 
use  your  memory,  man,  and  lead  on  to  some  thicket  of  scrubby 


Si:iM'i-,,N    ill'KKli'AXE.  169 

oaks — if  you  can  tL'mk  of  one  near  at  baud.  Iff. ! — wt  must  speed 
— we  have  lingered  too  long.  Why  did  you  not  hurry  me  ?  You 
should  have  known  how  difficult  it  was  for  me  to  hurry  myself  in 
such  a  situation." 

This  was  spoken  by  Singleton  at  moments  when  the  gusts  per 
mitted  him  to  be  heard,  and  when  the  irregularity  of  the  route 
suffered  his  companion  to  keep  beside  him.  The  lieutenant  an 
swered  promptly — 

"  That  was  the  very  reason  why  I  did  not  wish  to  hurry  you, 
major.  I  knew  you  hadn't  seen  your  folks  for  a  mighty  long  spell, 
arid  so  1  couldn't  find  it  in  my  heart  to  break  in  upon  you,  though 
I  felt  dub'ous  that  the  storm  would  be  soon  upon  us." 

"A  bad  reason  for  a  soldier.  Friends  and  family  are  scarcely 
desirable  at  such  a  time  as  this,  since  we  can  seldom  see  them,  or 
only  see  their  suffering.  Ha  ! — that  was  sharp  1" 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  at  some  distance.  We  are  coming  to  the  stunted 
oaks  now,  which  are  rather  squat,  and  not  so  likely  to  give  as  the 
pines.  There  aint  so  much  of  'em,  you  see.  Keep  a  look  out,  sir, 
or  the  branches  will  pull  you  from  your  horse.  The  road  here  i.s 
pretty  much  overgrown,  and  the  vines  crowd  thick  upon  it." 

"  A  word  in  season,"  exclaimed  Singleton,  as  he  drew  back  be 
fore  an  overhanging  branch  which  had  been  bent  by  the  wind,  and 
was  thrust  entirely  across  his  path.  A  few  moments  were  spent 
in  rounding  the  obstruction,  and  the  storm  grew  heavier ;  the  winds 
no  longer  laboured  among  the  trees,  but  rushed  along  with  a  force 
which  flattened  their  elastic  tops,  so  that  it  either  swept  clean 
through  them,  or  laid  them  prostrate  for  ever.  A  stronger  hold, 
a  positive  straining  in  their  effort,  became  necessary  now,  with  both 
riders,  in  order  to  secure  themselves  firmly  in  their  saddles ;  while 
their  horses,  with  uplifted  ears,  and  an  occasional  snort,  in  this 
manner,  not  less  than  by  a  shiver  of  their  whole  frames,  betrayed 
their  own  apprehensions,  and,  as  it  were,  appealed  to  their  masters 
for  protection. 

"The  dumb  beast  knows  where  to  look,  after  all,  major:  he 
knows  that  man  is  most  able,  you  see,  to  take  care  of  him,  though 
man  wants  his  keeper  too.  But  the  beast  don't  knc  w  that.  He's  like 
tiie  good  ?oldier  that  miuds  his  own  captain,  and  looks  to  him  only, 


170  THE    I' ARTISAN. 

though  the  captain  himself  has  a  general  from  whom  he  gets  his 
orders.  Now,  say  what  you  will,  major,  there's  reason  in  the  horse 
— the  good  horse,  I  mean,  for  some  horses  that  I've  straddled  in 
ray  time  have  shown  themselves  mighty  foolish  and  unreasonable." 

llumphries  stroked  the  neck  of  his  steed  fondly,  and  coaxed  him 
by  an  affectionate  word,  as  he  uttered  himself  thus,  with  no  very 
profound  philosophy.  lie  seemed  desirous  of  assuring  the  steed 
that  he  held  him  of  the  better  class,  arid  favoured  him  accordingly. 
Singleton  assented  to  the  notion  of  his  companion,  who  did  not, 
however,  see  the  smile  which  accompanied  his  answer. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Humphries,  the  horse  knows  his  master,  and  is  the 
least  able  or  willing  of  all  animals  to  do  without  him.  I  would  we 
had  our  nags  in  safety  now :  I  would  these  five  miles  were  well 
over." 

"  It's  a  tough  ride ;  but  that's  so  much  the  better,  major — the 
less  apt  we  are  to  be  troubled  with  the  tories." 

"  1  should  rather  plunge  through  a  crowd  of  them,  now,  in  a 
charge  against  superior  cavalry,  than  take  it  in  such  a  night  as  this, 
when  the  wind  lifts  you,  at  every  bound,  half  out  of  your  saddle, 
and,  but  for  the  lightning,  which  comes  quite  too  nigh  to  be  at  all 
times  pleasant,  your  face  would  make  momentary  acquaintance 
with  boughs  and  branches,  vines  and  thorns,  that  give  no  notice 
and  leave  their  mark  at  every  brush.  A  charge  were  far  less  dif 
ficult." 

"Almost  as  safe,  sir,  that's  certain,  and  not  more  unpleasant. 
But  let  us  hold  up,  major,  for  a  while,  and  push  for  the  thicket. 
We  shall  now  have  the  worst  of  the  hurricane.  See  the  edge  of  it 
yonder — how  black !  and  now — only  hear  the  roaring !" 

"  Yes,  it  comes.  I  feel  it  on  my  cheek.  It  sends  a  breath  like 
fire  before  it,  sultry  and  thick,  as  if  it  had  been  sweeping  all  day 
over  beds  of  the  hottest  sand.  Lead  the  way,  Humphries." 

"Here,  sir, — follow  close  and  quick.  There's  a  clump  of  forest, 
with  nothing  but  small  trees,  lying  to  the  left — now,  sir,  that  flash 
will  show  it  to  you — there  we  can  be  snug  till  the  storm  passes  over. 
It  has  a  long  body  and  it  shakes  it  mightily,  but  it  goes  too  fast  to 
stay  long  in  its  journey,  and  a  few  minutes,  sir — a  few  minutes  is 
all  we  want.  Mind  the  vine  there,  sir ;  and  there,  to  your  left,  ;« 


THE    RUSH    OF  THE   STORM.  171 

a  gully,  where  an  old  tree's  roots  have  come  up.  Now,  major,  tho 
sooner  we  dismount  and  squat  with  our  horses  the  better.'' 

They  had  now  reached  the  spot  to  which  Humphries  had  directed 
his  course — a  thick  undergrowth  of  small  timher — of  tield  pine,  the 
stunted  oak,  black-jack,  and  hickory — few  of  sufficient  size  to  feel 
(he  force  of  the  tempest,  or  prove  very  conspicuous  conductors  of 
the  lightning.  Obeying  the  suggestion  and  following  the  example 
of  his  companion,  Singleton  dismounted,  and  the  two  placed  them 
selves  and  their  horses  as  much  upon  the  sheltered  side  of  the 
clump  as  possible,  yet  sufficiently  far  to  escape  any  danger  from  its 
overthrow.  Here  they  awaited  the  coming  of  the  tempest.  The 
experienced  woodman  alone  could  have  spoken  for  its  approach. 
A  moment's  pause  had  intervened,  when  the  suddenly  aroused 
elements  seemed  as  suddenly  to  have  sunk  into  grim  repose.  A 
slight  sighing  of  the  wind  only,  as  it  wound  sluggishly  along  the 
distant  wood,  had  its  warning,  and  the  dense  blackness  of  the  em 
bodied  storm  was  only  evident  at  moments  when  the  occasional 
rush  of  the  lightning  made  visible  its  gloomy  terrors. 

u  It's  making  ready  for  a  charge,  major :  it's  just  like  a  good 
captain,  sir,  that  calls  in  his  scouts  and  sentries,  and  orders  all 
things  to  keep  quiet,  and  without,  beat  of  drum  gets  all  fixed  to 
spring  out  from  the  bush  upon  them  that's  coming.  It  won't  be 
long  now,  sir,  before  we  get  it ;  but  just  now  it's  still  as  the  grave. 
It's  waiting  for  its  outriders  —  them  long  streaky  white^  clouds  it 
sent  out  an  hour  ago,  like  so  many  scouts.  They're  a-coming  up 
now,  and  when  they  all  get  up  together — then  look  out  for  the 
squall.  Quiet  nt>\v,  Mossfoot—  quiet  now,  creature — don't  be  fright 
ened — it's  not  a-going  to  hurt  you,  old  fellow — not  a  bit." 

Humphries  patted  his  favourite  while  speaking,  and  strove  to 
soothe  and  quiet  the  impatience  which  both  horses  exhibited.  This 
was  in  that  strange  pause  of  the  storm  which  is  its  most  remark 
able  feature  in  the  South — that  singular  interregnum  of  the  winds, 
when,  after  giving  repeated  notice  of  their  most  terrific  action,  they 
seem  almost  to  forget  their  purpose,  and  for  a  few  moments  appear 
to  slumber  in  their  inactivity. 

But  the  pause  was  only  momentary,  and  was  now  at  an  end. 
la  another  instant,  they  heard  the  rush  and  the  roar  as  of  a  thou 


172  THE    PARTISAN. 

sand  wild  steeds  of  the  desert  ploughing  the  sands ;  then  followed 
the  mournful  howling  of  the  trees — the  shrieking  of  the  lashed 
winds,  as  if,  under  the  influence  of  some  fierce  demon  who  enjoyed 
his  triumph,  they  plunged  through  the  forest,  wailing  at  their  owu 
destructive  progress,  yet  compelled  unswervingly  to  hurry  forward. 
They  twisted  the  pine  from  its  place,  snapping  it  as  a  reed,  while 
its  Ueavy  fall  to  the  ground  which  it  had  so  long  sheltered,  called 
up,  even  amid  the  roar  of  the  tempest,  a  thousand  echoes  from  the 
forest.  The  branches  of  the  wood  were  prostrated  like  so  much 
heather,  wrested  and  swept  from  the  tree  which  yielded  them  with 
out  a  struggle  to  the  blast;  and  the  crouching  horses  and  riders 
below  were  in  an  instant  covered  with  a  cloud  of  fragments.  These 
were  the  precursors  merely :  then  came  the  arrowy  flight  and  form 
of  the  hurricane  itself — its  actual  bulk — its  embodied  power,  press 
ing  along  through  the  forest  in  a  gyratory  progress,  not  fifty  yards 
wide,  never  distending  in  width,  yet  capriciously  winding  from 
right  to  left  and  left  to  right,  in  a  zigzag  direction,  as  if  a  playful 
spirit  thus  strove  trt  mix  with  all  the  terrors  of  destruction  the 
sportive  mood  of  the  most  idle  fancy.  In  this  progress,  the  whole 
wood  in  its  path  underwent  prostration — the  tall,  proud  pine,  the 
deep-rooted  and  unbending  oak,  the  small  cedar  and  the  pliant 
shrub,  torn,  dismembered  of  their  fine  proportions ;  some,  only  by 
a  timely  yielding  to  the  pressure,  passed  over  with  little  injury,  as  if 
too  much  scorned  by  the  assailant  for  his  wrath.  The  larger  trees 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  spot  where  our  partisans  had  taken 
shelter,  shared  the  harsher  fortune  generally,  for  they  were  in  the 
very  track  of  the  tempest.  Too  sturdy  and  massiv*  lo  yield,  they 
withheld  their  homage,  and  were  either  snapped  oil' relentlessly  and 
short,  or  were  torn  and  twisted  up  from  their  very  roots.  The  poor 
horses,  with  eyes  staring  in  the  direction  of  the  storm,  with  ears 
erect,  and  manes  flying  in  the  wind,  stood  trembling  in  every  joint, 
too  much  terrified,  or  too  conscious  of  their  helplessness,  to  attempt 
to  fly.  All  around  the  crouching  party  the  woods  seemed  for 
several  seconds  absolutely  flattened.  Huge  trees  were  prostrated, 
and  their  branches  were  clustering  thickly,  and  almost  forming  a 
prison  around  them ;  leaving  it  doubtful,  as  the  huge  terror  rolled 
over  their  heads,  whether  they  could  ever  make  their  escape  from 


RELEASE.  175 

the  enclosure.  Rush  after  rush  of  the  trooping  winds  went  over 
them,  keeping  them  immovable  in  their  crowded  shelter  and  posi 
tion — each  succeeding  troop  wilder  and  weightier  than  the  last, 
until  at  length  a  sullen,  bellowing  murmur,  which  before  they  had 
not  heard,  announced  the  greater  weight  of  the  hurricane  to  be 
overthrowing  the  forests  in  the  distance. 

The  chief  danger  had  overblown.  Gradually  the  warm,  oppres 
sive  breath  passed  off;  the  air  again  grew  suddenly  cool,  and  a 
gush  of  heavy  drops  came  falling  from  the  heavens,  as  if  they  too 
had  been  just  released  from  the  intolerable  pressure  which  had 
burdened  earth.  Moaning  pitifully,  the  prostrated  trees  and  shrubs, 
t  hose  which  had  survived  the  storm,  though  shorn  by  its  scythes, 
gradually,  and  seemingly  with  painful  effort,  once  more  elevated 
themselves  to  their  old  position.  Their  sighings,  as  they  did  so, 
were  almost  human  to  the  ears  of  our  crouching  warriors,  whom 
their  movement  in  part  released.  Far  and  near,  the  moaning  of 
the  forest  around  them  was  strangely,  but  not  unpleasantly,  height 
ened  in  its  effect  upon  their  senses,  by  the  distant  and  declining 
roar  of  the  past  and  far  travelling  hurricane,  as,  ploughing  the  deep 
woods  and  laying  waste  all  in  its  progess,  it  rushed  on  to  a  meet 
ing  with  the  kindred  storms  that  gather  about  the  gloomy  Cape 
Ilatteras,  and  stir  and  foam  along  the  waters  of  the  Atlantic. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  it's  no  worse,  major,"  cried  Humphries,  rising 
and  shaking  himself  from  the  brush  with  which  he  was  covered. 
"  The  danger  is  now  over,  though  it  was  mighty  close  to  our 
haunches.  Look,  now,  at  this  pine,  split  all  to  shivers,  and  the  top 
not  five  feet  from  Mossfoot's  quarters.  The  poor  beast  would  ha' 
been  in  a  sad  fix  a  little  to  the  left  there." 

Extricating  themselves,  they  helped  their  steeds  out  of  the  brush, 
though  with  some  difficulty — soothing  them  all  the  while  with 
words  of  encouragement.  As  Humphries  had  already  remarked 
\n  his  rude  fashion,  the  horse,  at  such  moments,  feels  and  acknow 
ledges  his  dependence  upon  man,  looks  to  him  for  the  bridle,  and 
dies  to  him  for  protection.  They  were  almost  passive  in  the  hands 
of  their  masters,  and  under  the  unsubsided  fear  would  have  followed 
li.^m,  like  tame  dogs,  in  any  direction. 

Th&  storm,  ihough  diminished  of  its  terrors,  still  continued;  bu: 
8 


174  THE   PARTISAN. 

this  did  not  discourage  the  troopers.  They  were  soon  mounted, 
and  once  more  upon  their  way.  The  darkness,  in  part,  had  been 
dissipated  by  the  hurricane.  Tt  had  swept  on  to  other  regions, 
leaving  behind  it  only  detached  masses  of  wind  and  rain-clouds 
sluggishly  hanging,  or  fitfully  flying  along  the  sky.  These,  though 
still  sufficient  to  defeat  the  light  of  the  moon,  could  not  altogether 
prevent  a  straggling  ray  which  peeped  out  timidly  at  pauses  in 
the  storm;  and  which,  though  it  could  not  illumine  still  contrived 
to  diminish  somewhat  the  gloomy  and  forbidding  character  of  the 
scene.  Such  gleams  in  the  natural,  are  like  the  assurances  of  hope 
in  the  moral  world — they  speak  of  to-morrow — they  promise  us 
that  the  clouds  must  pass  away — they  cheer,  when  there  is  little 
left  to  charm. 

The  path  over  which  the  partisans  journeyed  had  been  little 
used,  and  was  greatly  overgrown.  They  could  move  but  slowly, 
therefore,  in  the  imperfect  light;  and,  but  for  the  frequent  flashes 
of  lightning  it  might  have  been  doubtful,  though  Humphries  knew 
the  country,  whether  they  could  have  found  their  way.  But  the 
same  agent  which  gave  them  light,  had  nearly  destroyed  them. 
While  Humphries,  descending  from  his  steed,  which  he  led  by  the 
bridle,  was  looking  about  for  a  by-path  that  he  expected  to  find  in 
the  neighbourhood,  a  sudden  stroke  of  the  lightning,  and  the  over 
whelming  blaze  which  seemed  to  kindle  all  around  them,  and 
remained  for  several  seconds  stationary,  drove  back  the  now  doubly 
terrified  steeds,  and  almost  blinded  their  riders.  That  of  Singleton 
sank  upon  his  haunches,  while  Mossfoot,  in  her  terror,  dragged 
Humphries,  who  still  grasped  firmly  his  bridle,  to  some  little  dis 
tance  in  the  woods.  Sudden  blackness  succeeded,  save  in  one  spot, 
where  a  tree  had  been  smitten  by  the  fluid,  and  was  now  blazing 
along  the  oozy  gum  at  its  sides.  The  lino  of  fire  was  drawn  along 
the  tree,  up  and  down — a  bright  flame,  that  showed  them  more  of 
the  track  they  were  pursuing  than  they  had  seen  before.  In  the 
first  moment  following  the  cessation  of  the  fiercer  blaze  made  by 
the  lightning,  and  when  the  tree  first  began  to  extend  a  certain 
light,  Singleton  thought  he  saw  through  the  copse  the  outline  of 
a  human  form,  on  foot,  n»ving  quickly  along  the  road  above  him. 
He  called  quickly  to  Humphries,  but  the  lieutenant  was  busy  with 


PURSUIT.  >  175 

his  steed,  and  did  not  seem  to  hear.     Again  \vas  the  object  visible, 
and  Singleton  then  cried  out  — 

"  Who  goes  (here  ?  —  ho  !" 

No  answer;  and  tlie  fugitive  only  seemed  to  increase  his  speed, 
turning  aside  to  the  denser  woods,  as  if  he  strove  to  elude  observa 
tion.  The  challenge  was  repeated. 

"  What,  ho!  there  —  who  goes?     Speak,  or  I  shoot." 

lie  detached  one  of  his  pistols  from  the  holster  as  he  spoke,  and 
cocked  it  to  be  in  readiness.  Still  no  answer,  the  person  addressed 
moving  more  quickly  than  ever.  Wiili  the  sight,  with  an  instinct 
like  lightning,  the  partisan  put  spurs  to  his  steed,  and  drove  fear 
lessly  through  the  bush  in  pursuit.  The  fugitive  now  took  fairly 
to  his  heels,  leaping  over  a  fallen  tree,  fully  in  sight  of  his  pursuer. 
In  a  moment  after,  the  steed  went  after  him  —  Humphries,  by  this 
time  in  saddle,  closely  following  on  the  heels  of  his  commander. 
l-'or  a  moment  the  object  was  lost  to  sight,  but  in  the  next  he  ap 
peared  again. 

"  Stand  !"  was  the  cry,  and  with  it  the  shot.  The  ball  rushed 
into  the  bush  which  seemed  .to  shelter  the  flying  man,  and  where 
they  had  last  seen  him  —  they  bounded  to  the  spot,  but  nothing  was 
to  be  seen. 

"He  was  here  —  you  saw  him,  Humphries,  did  you  not?" 

"  A  bit  of  him,  major  —  a  small  chance  of  him  behind  the  bush, 
but  too  little  a  mark  for  them  pistols." 

"He  is  there  —  there!"  and  catching  another  glimpse  of  the  fugi 
tive,  Singleton  led  the  pursuit,  again  firing  as  he  flew,  and,  without 
pausing  to  wait  the  result,  leaping  down  to  the  spot  where  he  ap 
peared  to  them.  The  pursuit  was  equally  fruitless  with  the  ai;n. 
The  place  was  bare.  They  had  plunged  into  a  hollow,  and  fouiid 
themselves  in  a  pond,  almost  knee  deep  in  water.  They  looked 
about  vainly,  Humphries  leading  the  search  with  unusual  ?ar- 


"  I  like  not,  major,  that  the  fellow  should  escape.  Why  should 
he  stand  a  shot,  rather  than  refuse  to  halt,  and  answer  to  a  civil 
question  ?  I'm  dub'ous,  major,  there's  something  wrong  in  it;  and 
be  came  from  the  direction  leading  to  u.r  carr,p." 


176  THE   PARTISAN. 

"Ha!  are  you  sure  of  that,  Humphries? — think  you  so?" 

"  Ay,  sir — the  pine  that  was  struck  marks  the  by-path  through 
which  I  should  have  carried  you  in  daylight.  It  is  the  shortest, 
though  the  worst;  and  he  could  not  have  been  far  from  it  when 
you  started  him.  Ah  !  I  have  it  now.  A  mile  from  this  is  the 
house  of  old  Mother  Blonay,  the  dam  of  that  fellow  Goggle.  WQ 
will  ride  there,  major,  if  you  say  so." 

"  With  what  object,  Humphries  ?  what  has  she  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"  I  suspect  the  fugitive  to  be  Goggle,  the  chap  I  warned  you  not 
to  take  into  the  troop.  Better  we  had  hung  him  up,  for  he's  not 
one  to  depend  upon.  All  his  blood's  bad  :  his  father — him  they 
call  so,  at  least — was  a  horse-thief;  and  some  say,  that  he  had  a 
cross  in  his  blood.  As  for  that,  it's  clear  to  me,  that  Goggle  is  a 
hnlf-breed  Indian,  or  mestizo,  or  something.  Anybody  that  looks 
on  Goggle  will  say  so ;  and  then  the  nature  of  the  beast  is  so  like 
an  Indian — why,  sir,  he's  got  no  more  feeling  than  a  pine  stump." 

"  And  with  what  motive  would  you  ride  to  his  mother's  ?" 

"Why,  sir,  if  this  skulking  chap  be  Goggle,  he's  either  been 
there,  or  is  on  his  way  there ;  and  if  so,  be  sure  he's  after  mischief. 
Proctor  or  Huck  at  the  garrison  will  soon  have  him  among  them, 
and  he'll  get  his  pay  in  English  guineas  for  desertion.  Now,  sir, 
it's  easy  to  see  if  he's  been  there,  for  I  s'pose  the  old  hag  don't  mind 
to  tell  us." 

"  Lead  on  !     A. mile,  you  say  ?" 

"A  short  mile;  and  if  he's  not  been  there  yet,  he  must  be  about 
somewhere,  and  we  may  get  something  out  of  the  old  woman,  who 
passes  for  a  witch  about  here,  and  tells  fortunes,  and  can  show  you 
where  to  find  stolen  cattle ;  and  they  do  say,  major,  though  I 
never  believed  it — they  do  say,"  and  the  tones  of  his  voice  fell  as 
he  spoke — "  they  do  say  she  can  put  the  bad  mouth  upon  people  ; 
and  there's  not  a  few  that  lay  all  their  aches  and  complaints  to 
her  door." 

"  Indeed  !"  was  the  reply  of  Singleton  ;  "  indeed  !  she  is  a  sight 
worth  seeing;  and  so  let  us  ride,  Humphries,  and  get  out  of  this 
swamp  thicket  with  all  possible  speed." 

"  A  long  leap,  major,  will  be  sure  to  do  it.     But  better  we  move 


THE  DESERTER.  177 

slowly.  1  don't  want  to  lose  our  chance  at  this  rascal  for  some 
thing ;  and  who  knows  but  we  may  catch  him  there.  He's  a  great 
skunk,  now,  major,  that  same  Goggle;  and  though  hanging's  much 
too  good  for  him,  yet  them  pistols  would  have  pleased  me  better 
had  they  lodged  the  ball  more  closely." 


OHAPTEK    XVI. 

•*  A  hag  that  hell  hm  work  for— a  bora  «lav» 
To  an  o'«rcoramg  evil — venomous,  Tile, 
Suttke-like,  that  hugs  the  bush  and  bites  the  heel." 

THE  troopers  had  not  been  well  gone,  before  the  fugitive  they  had 
*_  vainly  pursued  stood  upon  the  very  spot  which  they  had  left.  He 
rose  from  the  mire  of  the  pond,  in  which  he  had  not  paused  to 
imbed  himself  when  the  search  was  hottest  and  close  upon  him. 
The  conjecture  of  Humphries  was  correct,  and  Goggle  or  Blonay 
was  the  person  they  had  chased.  He  had  left  his  post  in  the  bi 
vouac,  when  the  storm  came  on,  and  was  then  upon  his  way  to  his 
mother's  cabin.  From  that  spot  his  farther  course  was  to  the  Bri 
tish  garrison  with  his  intelligence.  His  determination  in  this  re 
spect,  however,  underwent  a  change,  as  we  shall  see  in  the  progress 
of  the  narrative. 

Never  had  better  knowledge  of  character  been  shown  than  in  the 
estimate  made  by  Humphries  of  that  of  the  deserter.  (Joggle  was 
as  warped  in  .morals  as  he  was  blear  in  vision  ;  a  wretch  aptly  fitted 
for  the  horse-thief,  the  tory,  and  murderer.  His  objects  were  evil 
generally,  and  he  had  no  scruples  as  to  the  means  by  which  to 
secure  them.  Equally  indifferent  to  him  what  commandment  he 
violated  in  these  practices ;  for,  with  little  regard  from  society,  he 
had  no  sympathy  with  it,  and  only  obeyed  its  laws  as  he  feared  and 
would  avoid  their  penalties.  He  hated  society  accordingly  as  he 
was  compelled  to  fear  it.  He  looked  upon  it  as  a  power  to  be  de 
stroyed  with  the  opportunity,  .-is  a  spoil  to  be  appropriated  with 
the  chance  for  its  attainment;  and  the  moods  of  such  a  nature  were 
impatient  for  exercise,  even  upon  occasions  when  he  could  hope  no 
addition  to  his  pleasure  or  his  profit  from  their  indulgence. 

Squat  in  the  ooze  and  water  of  the  creek,  while  the  horse  of  Sin- 
gletou  at  (.ue  monn-nt  almost  .stood  MVI-I-  him.  !;••  had  drawn  breath 


TUti    HIDING    PLACE,  179 

with  difficulty  through  the  loaves  of  ;i  bush  growing  upon  the  edge 
of  the  ditch  in  which  his  head  had  found  concealment ;  and  in  this 
perilous  situation  his  savage  spirit  actually  prompted  him  to  thrust 
his  knife  into  the  belly  of  the  animal.  He  had  drawn  it  for  this 
purpose  from  his  belt,  while  his  hands  and  body  were  under  watei. 
Its  point  was  already  turned  upward,  when  Singleton  moved  away 
from  the  dangerous  proximity.  Here  he  listened  to  the  dialogue! 
which  the  two  carried  on  concerning  him  ;  and,  even  in  that  predi 
cament  of  dirt  and  danger  in  which  he  lay,  his  mind  brooded  over 
a  thousand  modes  by  which  he  should  enjoy  his  malignant  appetite, 
Jhat  craved  for  revenge  upon  them  both.  When  they  were  fairly 
gone,  he  rose  from  the  mire  and  ascended  cautiously  to  the  bank  ; 
shook  himself  like  a  water-dog,  while  he  almost  shivered  in  the  satu 
rated  garments  which  he  wore  ;  then  rubbed  and  grumbled  over  the 
rifle  which  he  had  taken  with  him  into  the  mire,  and  which  came 
out  as  full  of  its  ooze  and  water  as  himself. 

"  So  ho !"  said  he,  as  he  shook  himself  free  from  the  mud — "  So 
ho !  they  are  gone  to  old  Moll's  to  look  after  me,  cli !  Now  would 
I  like  to  put  this  bullet  into  that  Dorchester  skunk,  Humphries,  d — n 
him.  I  am  of  bad  blood,  am  I ! — my  father  a  horse-thief  and  a  mu 
latto,  and  I  only  fit  for  hanging !  The  words  must  be  paid  for ; 
and  Moll  must  answer  for  some  of  them.  She  is  my  mother,  that's 
clear — she  shall  tell  me  this  night  who  my  father  is ;  for,  Blonay,  or 
Goggle,  or  the  devil,  I  will  know.  She  shall  put  me  oft'  no  longer. 
No !  though  she  tells  me  the  worst — though  she  tells  me  that  1 
am  the  spawn  of  Jack  Drayton's  driver,  as  once  before  I've  heard  it." 

Thus  muttering,  he  looked  to  his  flint  and  inspected  the  priming 
of  his  rifle.  With  much  chagrin  he  found  the  powder  saturated 
with  water,  and  the  charge  useless.  He  searched  his  pockets,  but 
his  flask  was  gone.  He  had  purposed  the  murder  of  Humphries  or 
Singleton  had  this  not  been  the  case.  He  now  without  hesitation 
took  the  track  after  them,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  oamo  i:. 
sight  of  the  miserable  clay  and  log  hovel  in  which  his  mother,  odious 
and  dreaded  as  she  was,  passed  fitly  her  existence.  This  spot  wa.i 
dreary  in  the  extreme  :  an  old  field  ;  a  few  cheerless  pines  rose 
around  it,  and  the  thick  broom  straw  waved  its  equally  bald,  though 
more  crowded  forms  iu  uncurbed  vegetation  among  them.  The 


180  THE   PARTISAN. 

hovel  stood  in  a  hollow,  considerably  below  the  surrounding  level, 
and  the  little  glimmer  of  light,  stealing  from  between  the  logs,  only 
made  its  location  seem  more  cheerless  to  the  observer. 

Blonay — or,  as  we  shall  hereafter  call  him,  according  to  th« 
fashion  of  the  country,  Goggle — cautiously  approached  a  jungle,  in 
which  he  hid  himself,  about  a  stone's  throw  from  the  hovel.  There 
he  watched,  as  well  as  he  might,  in  the  imperfect  light  of  the  even 
ing,  for  the  appearance  of  the  troopers.  Though  mounted,  they  had 
not  yet  succeeded  in  reaching  the  spot,  which,  familiar  to  him  from 
childhood,  he  well  knew  to  find  in  the  darkest  night,  and  by  a 
route  the  most  direct.  He  was  there  before  them,  snug  in  his 
cover,  and  coolly  looking  out  for  their  coming.  More  than  once 
he  threw  up  the  pan  of  his  rifle,  carefully  keeping  it  from  its  usual 
click  by  the  intervention  of  his  finger,  and  cursed  within  himself 
his  ill  fortune,  as  he  found  the  powder  saturated  with  water,  a  soft 
paste  beneath  his  touch.  He  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket, 
seeking  there  for  some  straggling  grains,  of  which  in  the  emer 
gency  he  might  avail  himself;  but  he  looked  fruitlessly,  and  was 
compelled  to  forego  the  hope  of  a  shot,  so  much  desired,  at  one  or 
other  of  the  persons  now  emerging  from  the  wood  before  him. 

The  barking  of  a  cur  warned  the  indweller  of  visitors,  but  with 
out  offering  any  obstacle  to  their  advance.  Humphries  proceeded 
first,  and  motioning  his  companion  to  keep  his  saddle,  fastened  his 
horse  to  a  bough,  and  treading  lightly,  looked  through  the  crevices 
of  the  logs  upon  the  old  crone  within.  .Though  in  June,  a  warm 
season  at  all  times  in  Carolina,  the  old  woman  partook  too  much 
of  the  habits  of  the  very  poor  in  that  region  to  be  without  a  fire ; 
and  with  the  taste  of  the  negro,  she  was  now  bending  over  a  huge 
light  wood  blaze,  with  a  pipe  of  rude  structure  and  no  small  dimen 
sions'  in  her  mouth,  from  which  the  occasional  puff  went  forth, 
filling  the  apartment  with  the  unpleasant  effluvia  of  the  vilest  leaf- 
tobacco  ;  while  her  body  and  head  swung  ever  to  and  fro,  with  a 
regular  seesaw  motion,  that  seemed  an  habitual  exercise.  Her  thin, 
shrivelled,  and  darkly  yellow  features,  were  hag-like  and  jaundiced. 
The  skin  was  tightly  drawn  across  the  face,  and  the  high  cheek 
bones  and  the  nose  seemed  disposed  to  break  through  the  slender 
restraints  of  their  covering.  Her  eyes  were  small  and  sunken,  of  » 


THE  WITCH'S  WELCOME,  181 

light  grey,  and  had  a  vicious  twinkle,  that  did  not  accord  with  the 
wretched  and  decayed  aspect  of  her  other  features.^  Her  forehead 
was  small,  and  clustered  with  grisly  hair  of  mixed  white  and  black, 
disordered  and  unbound,  but  still  short,  and  with  the  appearance 
of  having  but  lately  undergone  clipping  at  the  extremities.  These 
features,  repulsive  in  themselves,  were  greatly  heightened  in  their 
offensive  expression  by  the  severe  mouth  and  sharp  chin  below 
them.  The  upper  lip  was  flat,  undeveloped  entirely,  while  thn 
lower  was  thrust  forth  in  a  thick  curl,  and,  closely  rising  and 
clinging  to  the  other,  somewhat  lifted  her  glance  into  a  sort  of 
insolent  authority,  which,  sometimes  accompanying  aroused  feel 
ing,  or  an  elevated  mood  of  mind,  miglit  look  like  dignified  supe 
riority.  The  dress  which  she  wore  was  of  the  poorest  sort,  the 
commonest  white  homespun  of  the  country,  probably  her  own 
manufacture,  and  so  indifferently  made,  that  it  hung  about  her  like 
a  sack,  and  gave  a  full  view  of  the  bronzed  and  skinny  neck  and 
bosom,  which  a  regard  to  her  appearance  might  have  prompted 
her  to  conceal.  Beside  her  a  couple  of  cats  of  mammoth  size  kept 
uj)  a  drowsy  hum,  entirely  undisturbed  by  the  yelping  of  the 
cur,  which,  from  his  liltle  kennel  at  one  end  of  the  hovel,  main 
tained  a  continuous  clamour  at  the  approach  of  Humphries,  The 
old  woman  simply  turned  her  head,  for  a  moment,  to  the  entrance, 
took  the  pipe  from  her  mouth,  and  discharging  the  volume  of 
smoke  which  followed  it,  cried  harshly  to  the  dog,  as  if  in  en 
couragement.  Her  call  was  answered  by  Humphries,  who,  rapping 
at  the  door,  spoke  civilly  to  the  inmate. 

"  Now  open  the  door,  good  woman.  We  are  friends,  who  would 
speak  with  you.  We  have  been  caught  in  the  storm,  and  want 
you  to  give  us  house-room  till  it's  over." 

"  Friends  ye  may  be,  and  ye  may  not.  Down  by  the  dry  branch, 
and  through  the  old  road  to  mother  IHonay's,  is  no  walk  that 
friends  often  take ;  and  if  ye  be  travellers,  go  ye  on,  for  there's  no 
accommodation  for  ye,  and  but  little  here  ye  would  eat.  It's  a 
[Kior  country  y'are  in,  strangers,  and  nothing  short  of  Dorchester, 
or  it  may  be  Hantowle's,  will  serve  your  turn  for.  a  tavern." 

"Now.  out  upon  you,  mother!  would  you  keep  a  shut  door  upon 
us,  and  the  rain  still  pouring?"  cried  Humphries,  sharply. 
8* 


182  iiiE    r  A  HI  [SAN. 

"Ye  have  been  in  it  over  lung  to  mind  it  now,  I'm  thinking, 
and  ye'd  better  ride  it  out.  I  have  nothing  for  ye,  if  ye  would  rob. 
I'm  but  a  lone  woman,  and  mighty  poor;  and  have  no  plate,  no 
silver,  no  fine  watch,  nor  rings,  nor  anything  that  is  worth  your 
taking.  Go  to  'The  Oaks,'  or  Middleton  Place,  or  the  old  hall  at 
Archdale,  or  any  of  the  fine  houses;  they  have  plenty  of  good 
picking  there." 

"Now,"  said  Humphries  to  his  superior — "how  pleasantly  tin:. 
old  hag  tells  us  to  go  and  steal,  and  she  looking  down,  as  a  I >< ids- 
may  say,  into  the  very  throat  of  the  grave  that's  gaping  after- her." 

The  old  woman,  meanwhile,  as  if  satisfied  with  what  she  had 
done,  resumed  her  pipe,  and  recommenced  her  motion,  to  and  fr», 
over  the  blaze.  Humphries  was  for  a  smart  application  of  the  foot 
to  the  frail  door  that  kept  him  out,  but  to  this  his  companion  re 
fused  assent. 

"Confound  the  old  hag,  major;  she  will  play  with  us  after  this 
fashion  all  the  night.  I  know  her  of  old,  and  that's  the  only  way 
to  serve  her.  Nothing  but  kicks  for  that  breed  ;  civility  \f>  thrown 
away  upon  them." 

"No,  no — you  are  rash ;  let  me  speak.  I  say,  my  good  woman, 
we  are  desirous  of  entrance ;  we  have  business,  and  would  speak 
with  you." 

"  Business  with  me  !  and  it's  a  gentleman's  voice  too !  Maybe  he 
would  have  a  love-charm,  since  there  are  such  fools ;  or  he  has  an 
enemy,  and  would  have  a  bad  mouth  put  upon  him,  shall  make  him 
shrivel  up  and  die  by  kiches,  without  any  disease.  I  have  worked 
in  this  business,  and  may  do  more.  Well,  there's  good  wages  for 
it,  and  no  danger.  Who  shall  see,  when  I  beg  in  the  rich  man's 
kitchen,  that  I  put  the  poison  leaf  in  the  soup,  or  stir  the  crumbs 
with  the  parching  coffee,  or  sprinkle  the  powder  with  the  corn 
flour,  or  knead  it  up  with  the  dough  ?  It's  a  safe  business  enough, 
and  the  pay  is  good,  though  it  goes  over  soon  for  the  way  it  comes." 

"Come,  come,  my  good  <voman,"  cried  Singleton  impatiently,  as, 
the  old  beldam  thus  muttered  to  herself  the  various  secrets  of  her 
capacity,  and  strove  to  conjecture  the  nature  of  the  business  which 
her  visiters  had  with  her.  "  Come,  come,  my  good  woman,  let  us 
in ;  we  are  hurried,  and  have  no  little  to  do  before  daylight." 


THE   SOLDIER   SUPEItS'iTflOUS.  183 

"  Good  woman,  indeed !  Well,  many's  the  one  ha?  been  called 
good  with  as  little  reason.  Yes,  sir,  coming :  my  ol<l  limbs  are 
i'eeble ;  I  do  not  move  as  T  used  to  when  I  was  young." 

Thus  apologizing,  with  her  pipe  iu  one  hand,  while  the  other 
undid  the  entrance,  Mother  Blonay  admitted  her  visiters. 

"So,  you  have  been  young  once,  mother?"  said  Humphries, 
while  entering. 

The  old  woman  darted  a  glance  upon  hin, — a  steadfast  glance 
from  her  little  grey  eyes,  and  the  stout  and  fearless  trooper  felt  a 
thill  go  through  his  veins' on  the  instant,  lie  knew  the  estimate 
put  upon  her  throughout  the  neighbourhood,  as  one  possessed  of 
the  evil  eye,  or  rather  the  evil  mouth  ;  one  whose  word  brought 
blight  among  the  cattle,  and  whom  the  negroes  feared  with  a 
superstitious  dread,  as  able  to  bring  sickness  and  pestilence — a 
gnawing  disease  that  ate  away  silently,  until,  without  any  visible 
complaint,  the  victim  perished  hopelessly.  Their  fears  had  beeii 
adopted  in  part  by  the  whites  of  the  lower  class  in  the  same  region, 
and  Humphries,  though  a  bold  and  sensible  fellow,  had  heard  of 
too  many  dreadful  influences  ascribed  to  her,  not  to  be  unpleasantly 
startled  with  the  peculiar  intensity  of  the  stare  which  she  put  upon 
him.  Though  a  soldier,  and  like  his  fellows,  without  much  faith 
of  any  kind,  he  had  not  altogether  survived  his  superstitions. 

"  Young  !"  she  said,  in  reply  ;  "  yes,  I  have  been  young,  and  I 
felt  my  youth.  I  knew  it,  and  I  enjoyed  it.  But  I  have  outlived 
it,  and  you  see  me  now.  You  are  young,  too,  Bill  Humphries; 
may  you  live  to  have  the  same  question  asked  you  which  you  put 
to  me." 

"  A  cold  wish,  Mother  Blonay ;  a  bitter  cold  wish,  since  you 
should  know,  by  your  own  feelings,  how  hard  it  will  be  to  outlive 
activity  and  love,  and  the  young  people  that  come  about  us.  It's 
a  *sad  season  that,  mother,  and  may  I  die  before  it  comes.  But, 
talking  of  young  people,  mother,  reminds  me  that  you  are  not  so 
onesome  as  you  say.  You  have  your  son,  now,  Goggle." 

"If  his  eye  is  blear,  Bill  Humphries,  it's  not  the  part  of  good 
manners  to  speak  of  it  to  his  mother.  The  curse  of  a  blear  eye, 
and  a  blind  eye,  may  fall  upon  you  yet,  and  upon  yours — ay,  down 
to  your  children's  children  — for  any  thing  we  know," 


18-i  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  That's  true,  mother — none  of  us  can  say.  I  meant  no  harm, 
but  as  everybody  calls  him  Goggle — 

"  The  redbug  be  upon  everybody  that  so  calls  him  !  The  boy 
has  a  name  by  law." 

"  Well,  well,  mother,  do  not  be  angry,  and  wish  no  sores  upon 
your  neighbours'  shins  that  you  can't  wish  off.  The  redbugs  and 
the  June-flies  are  bad  enough  already,  without  orders  ;  and  peopl* 
do  say  you  are  quite  too  free  in  sending  such  plagues  upon  them, 
for  little  cause,  or  for  no  cause  at  all." 

"  It's  a  blessing  that  I  can  do  it,  Bill  Humphries,  or  idle  rowdies, 
<mcli  as  yourself,  would  harry  the  old  woman  to  death  for  theii 
sport.  It's  a  blessing  and  a  protection  that  I  can  make  the  yellow 
jacket  and  the  redbug  leave  their  poison  stings  in  the  tender  flesh, 
so  that  the  jester  that  laughs  at  the  old  and  suffering  shall  learn 
some  suffering  too." 

"  Quite  a  hard  punishment  for  such  an  offence.  But,  mother, 
they  say  you  can  do  more ;  that  you  have  the  spell  of  the  bad 
mouth,  that  brings  long  sickness  and  sudden  death,  and  many 
awful  troubles ;  and  some  that  don't  wish  you  well,  say  you  love 
to  use  it." 

"Do  they  say  so? — then  they  say  not  amiss.  Think  you,  Bill 
Humphries,  that  I  should  not  fight  with  him  who  bates  me,  and 
would  destroy  me  if  he  could  ?  I  do ;  and  the  bad  mouth  of 
Mother  Blonay  upon  you,  shall  make  the  bones  in  your  skin  ache 
for  long  months  after,  I  tell  you." 

"  I  beg,  for  God's  sake,  that  you  will  not  put  your  bad  mouth 
upon  me  then,  good  mother,"  exclaimed  Humphries,  with  ludicrous 
rapidity,  as  if  he  half  feared  the  immediate  exercise  of  her  faculty 
upon  him. 

The  old  woman  seemed  not  displeased  with  this  tacit  ac 
knowledgment  of  her  power,  and  she  now  twisted  her  chair  about 
so  as  to  place  herself  directly  in  front  of  Singleton.  He,  meanwhile, 
had  been  closely  scrutinizing  the  apartment,  which  was  in  no  re 
spects  better  than  those  of  the  commonest  negro-houses  of  the  low 
country.  The  floor  was  the  native  soil.  The  wind  was  excluded 
by  clay,  loosely  thrust  between  the  crevices  of  the  logs ;  aad  an  old 
waffolding  of  poles,  supporting  a  few  rails  crossing  each  other,  su»~ 


THE  HAG'S  HOVEL.  1S5 

taitml  the  ma! tress  of  moss,  upon  which  the  woman  slept.  She 
dwelt  unassisted,  seemingly,  and  entirely  alone.  A  few  gourds,  or 
calabashes,  hung  from  the  roof,  which  was  scantily  shingled  :  these 
certain  d  seeds  of  various  kinds,  bunches  of  dried  thyme,  sage,  and 
other  herbs  and  plants  ;  and  some  which,  by  a  close  analysis  of  their 
properties,  would  be  found  to  contain  a  sufficient  solution  of  the 
source  from  whence  came  her  spells  of  power  over  her  neighbours, 
whether  for  good  or  evil. 

Singleton  had  employed  himself  in  noticing  all  these  several  ob 
jects,  and  the  probability  is,  that  the  quick  eye  of  the  old  woman 
had  discovered  his  occupation.  She  turned  her  chair  so  as  to  place 
herself  directly  before  him,  and  the  glance  of  her  eye  confronting 
his,  compelled  him  to  a  similar  change  of  position.  The  docile  cats, 
with  a  sluggish  effort,  changed  their  ground  also  ;  and  after  circling 
thrice  about  their  new  places  of  repose,  before  laying  themselves 
down  upon  it,  they  soon  "resumed  their  even  and  self-satisfied  slum 
berous  hum,  which  the  movement  of  their  mistress  had  interrupted. 
A  moment  of  silence  intervened,  during  which  Dame  Blonay  em 
ployed  herself  in  examining  Singleton's  person  and  countenance.  • 

lie  was,  of  course,  quite  unknown  to  hei,  and  a  curious  desire  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  new  faces  is,  perhaps,  as  much  the  cha 
racteristic  of  age  as  its  garrulity.  Memory,  in  this  way,  becomes 
stirred  up  actively,  and  the  decaying  mind  delights  in  such  a  survey, 
that  it  may  liken  the  stranger  to  some  well  known  individual  of 
former  days.  It  is  thus  that  the  present  time  continually  supplies 
with  aliment  the  past  from  which  it  receives  so  much  of  its  own. 
The  close  survey  of  the  woman  did  not  please  Singleton,  who  at 
length  interrupted  it  by  resuming  the  subject  where  Humphries  had 
discontinued  it.  With  becoming  gravity,  he  asked  her  the  question 
which  follows,  in  respect  to  the  extent  of  her  powers — 

"And  so,  dame,  you  really  believe  that  you  possess  the  power  of 
doing  what  you  say  you  can  do  ?" 

"  Ay,  sir,  and  a  great  deal  more.  I  can  dry  up  the  blood  in  the 
veins  of  youth ;  I  can  put  the  staggering  weakness  into  the  bones 
and  sinews  of  the  strong  man ;  I  can  make  the  heart  shrink  that  is 
brave — I  can  put  pain  there  instead  of  pleasure." 

"  Indeed  !  if  you  ran  d«    this,  dame,  you  can  certainly  do  much 


186  THK    V\UTISAN. 

mere  than  most  of  your  neighlours.  But  is  it  not  strange,  mother 
that  these  povsers  arc  ali  for  evil  ?  Have  you  no  faculty  for  con 
ferring  good — for  cheering  the  heart  instead  of  distressing  it,  and 
giving  pleasure  instead  of  pain  ?" 

"  Ay  !  I  can  avenge  you  upon  your  enemy  !"  As  she  spoke,  her 
form  suspended  its  waving  motion,  was  bent  forward  in  eagerness, 
and  her  eye  glistened,  while  her  look  seemed  to  say,  "  Is  not  that 
the  capacity  you  would  have  me  serve  you  in  ?"' 

"  That,  also,  is  a  power  of  evil,  dame,  and  not  of  good.  I  spoke 
of  good,  not  evil." 

"  Not  that !"  she  muttered,  with  an  air  of  disappointment,  while 
drawing  herself  back  and  resuming  her  croning  movement. 

"  Not  that !  is  not  revenge  sweet,  young  master— very  sweet, 
when  you  have  been  robbed  and  wronged  for  years ;  trampled  in 
the  dust ;  laughed  and  sneered  at ;  hunted  and  hated :  is  not  the 
moment  of  revenge  sweet  ?  When  you  see  your  enemy  writhing  iu 
pain,  you  put  your  ear  down  and  listen  to  his  suffering,  and  your 
heart,  that  used  to  beat  only  with  its  own  sorrow,  you  feel  is 
throbbing  with  a  strange,  sweet  joy  at  his — is  it  not  sweet,  my 
master?". 

"  Ay,  sweet  perhaps  to  many,  dame,  but  I  fear  me,  still  evil ;  stili 
not  good  ;  still  harmful  to  man.  Have  you  no  better  powers  in 
your  collection  ?  none  to  give  strength  and  youth,  and  bring  back 
health  ?" 

She  pointed  to  a  bunch  of  the  smaller  snake-roots  which  lay  in 
the  corner,  but  with  much  seeming  indifference,  as  if  the  cure 'of 
disease  formed  but  an  humble  portion  of  her  mystery  and  labours. 

"  And  your  art  gives  you  power  uver  affections,  and  brings 
pleasure  sometimes,  mother  ?" 

"  Is  it  love  ? — the  love  of  the  young  woman — hard  to  please, 
difficult  to  soothe,  eold  to  sweet  words — that  you  would  win,  my 
young  master  ?" 

She  again  bent  her  head  towards  him,  and  suspended  her 
motion,  as  if  now  hopeful  that,  in  this  reference,  she  had  found 
out  the  true  quest  of  the  seeker.  A  warm  glow  overspread  the 
cheek  of  Singleton,  as,  in  answering  the  inquiry  correctly,  he  must 
u«ceb.surily  have  confessed  that  such  a  desire  was  iu  hit 


TlIK    MOTLIKK.  18 

though  certainly  without  any  resort  to  such  practices  as  might  be 
ooked  for  in  her  suggestion. 

"Ay,  indeed,  such  an  art  would  bo  something  to  me  now,  could 
it  avail  for  any  purpose — could  it  soften  the  stern,  and  warm  tho 
cold,  and  make  the  hard  to  please  easy — but  1  look  not  for  your 
aid,  mother,  to  do  all  this." 

"  1  can  do  it — fear  me  not,"  said  the  old  woman,  assuringly. 

"  It  may  be,  but  I  choose  not  that  thou  shouldet.  I  must  toil 
for  myself  in  this  matter,  and  the  only  art  I  may  use  must  be  that 
which  I  shall  not  be  ashamed  of.  Hut  we  have  another  quest, 
dame ;  and  upon  this  we  would  have  you  speak  honestly.  Von 
have  a  son  ?" 

The  old  woman  looked  earnestly  at  the  speaker ;  and,  as  at  that 
moment  the  sabre  swung  oft'  from  his  knee,  clattering  with  its  end 
upon  the  floor,  she  started  apprehensively,  and  it  could  be  seen  that 
she  trembled.  She  spoke  after  the  pause  of  an  instant : 

"  Sure,  captain — Ned,  Ned  Blonay  is  my  son.  What  would  you 
tell  me  ?  He  has  met  with  no  harm  T 

"  None,  mother — none  that  I  can  speak  of,"  said  Humphries 
quickly  ;  "  not  that  he  may  not  happen  upon  it  if  he  does  not 
mind  his  tracks.  But  tell  us — when  was  he  here  last,  mother  ? 
Was  he  not  here  to-night  ?  and  when  do  you  look  for  him  again  V 

The  apprehensions  of  the  woman  had  passed  oft';  she  resumed 
her  seesaw  motion,  and  answered  indifferently  :  . 

"  The  boy  is  his  own  master,  13111  Humphries ;  it  is  not  for  an 
old  woman  like  me  to  answer  for  Ned  Blonay.'' 

"  What !  are  you  not  witch  enough  to  manage  your  own  son  ! 
Tell  that  to  them  that  don't  know  you  both  better.  I  say  to  you, 
Mother  Blonay,  that  story  wor.t  pass  muster.  You  have  seen  Gog 
gle  to-night." 

"  And  I  say,  Bill  Humphries,  that  the  tongue  lies  that  says  it, 
though  it  never  lied  before.  Go — you're  a  foul-spoken  fellow,  and 
your  bones  shall  ache  yet  for  tlrat  same  speech.  Goggle— GoggK; 
— Goggle  !  as  if  it  wasn't  curse  enough  to  be  blear-eyed  without 
having  every  dirty  h'eld-tackey  whickering  about  it, ' 

"  Our  object  is  not  to  oft'ond,  my  good  woman,''  said  Singleton, 
interposing  gently  ;  "  but  to  jisk  a  civil  u'lestiou.  My  companion 


188  THE    PARTISAN. 

only  employs  a  name  by  which  your  son  is  generally  distinguished 
among  the  people.  Yo;i  must  not  allow  him  to  anger  you,  there 
fore,  but  answer  a  question  or  two  civilly,  and  we  shall  leave  you." 

"You  have  smooth  words,  captain,  and  I  know  what  good-breed 
ing  is.  I  have  lived  among  decent  people,  and  1  know  very  well 
how  to  behave  like  one  if  they  would  let  me  ;  but  when  such  ill- 
spoken  creatures  as  Bill  Humphries  ask  me  questions,  it's  ten  to 
one  I  don't  think  it  worth  while  to  answer  them  ;  and  answer  I 
will  not,  except  with  curses,  when  they  speak  nicknames  lor  my 
child.  I  know  the  boy  is  ugly  and  blear-eyed.  I  know  that  his 
skin  is  yellow  and  shrivelled  like  my  own,  but  he  has  suckled  at 
these  withered  paps,  and  he  is  my  child  ;  and  the  more  others  hate 
and  abuse  him,  the  more  I  love  him — the  more  I  will  take  up  for 
him." 

"  Now,  Mother  Blonay,  you  needn't  make  such  a  fuss  about  the 
matter.  You  know  I  meant  no  harm.  Confound  the  fellow,  I 
don't  care  whether  he  has  eyes  or  not ;  sure  I  am,  Ikriow  the  name 
which  people  give  him  without  minding  the  blear.  I  only  want 
vou  to  say  what  you've  done  with  him — where  he  is  now  ?" 

"You  are  too  quick — too  violent,  Humphries,  with  the  old 
woman,"  said  Singleton  in  a  whisper. 

"  Major,  don't  I  know  her  ?  The  old  hag — I  see  through  her 
now,  jist  as  easy  as  1  ever  saw  through  any  thing  in  my  life.  I'll 
lay  now  she  knows  all  about  the  skunk." 

"  Perhaps  so,  but  if  she  does,  thi;  is  not  the  way  to  get  at  her 
Information." 

"  But  little  hone  of  that  now,  since  she's  got  her  back  up.  Con- 
frwml  Goggle !  if  I  had  him  under  a  stout  hickory  I  reckon  I'd 
rr.ftke  her  talk  to  another  tune." 

This  was  loud  enough  for  the  old  woman,  who  replied  : — 

"  Yes — you'd  beat  with  blows  and  whips  a  far  better  man  than 
7?"rself.  But  go  your  ways,  and  see  what  will  come  of  this  night's 
«wk.  I  have  curses,  have  I? — if  I  have,  you  shall  hear  them.  I 
have  a  bad  mouth,  have  I  ? — you  shall  feel  it.  Hearken,  Bill  Hum- 
7>kries  !  I  am  old  and  weak,  but  1  am  strong  enough  to  com§  to 
veil  whore  you  arc,  and  whisper  in  your  ears.  As  what  I  say  will 
do  you  no  pleasure,  you  shall  hear  it." 


IMPP.F.CATION.  189 

And,  tottering  forward  from  lier  seat,  she  bent  down  to  the  chaii 
upon  which  lie  sat,  and  though  he  moved  away  in  an  instant,  he 
was  not  quick  enough  to  avoid  the  momentary  contact  of  her  pro 
truded  aud  hag-like  lip  with  his  ear,  that  shrunk  from  the  touch  as 
with  an  instinct  of  its  own/  She  whispered  but  two  words,  aud 
they  were  loudly  enough  uttered  for  Singleton  to  hear  as  well  as 
Humphries. 

"  Your  sister — Bella  llumphries  !" 

The  trooper  started  up  as  if  he  had  been  shot ;  staggered  he 
certainly  was,  and  his  eyes  glared  confusedly  upon  those  which  she 
piercingly  fixed  upon  him  with  a  fiendish  leer.  She  shook  her 
long  bony  finger  at  him,  and  her  body,  though  now  erect,  main 
tained  its  waving  motion  just  as  when  she  had  been  seated.  Re 
covering  in  a  moment,  he  advanced  with  threatening  action, 
exclaiming : — 

"  You  old  hag  of  hell !  what  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  What  of 
Bella  ?  what  of  my  sister  ?" 

"  Goggle — Goggle — Goggle — that  of  her  !  that  of  her  !"  was  all 
the  reply  ;  and  this  was  followed  by  a  low  chuckling  laugh,  which 
had  in  it  something  exceedingly  annoying  even  to  Singleton  himself. 
The  trooper  was  ferocious,  and  with  clenched  fist  seemed  about  to 
strike.  This,  when  she  saw,  seemed  to  produce  in  her  even  -a 
greater  degree  of  resolution.  Instead  of  shrinking,  she  advanced, 
folded  her  arms  upon  her  breast,  and  there  was  a  deep  concentrated 
solemnity  in  her  tone  as  she  exclaimed  : — 

"  Now  may  the  veins  dry  up,  and  the  flesh  wither,  and  the 
sinews  shrink,  and  the  marrow  leave  the  bones  !  Strike  the  old 
woman,  now,  Bill  Humphries — strike,  if  you  dare  !" 

Singleton  had  already  passed  between  the  parties,  not,  however, 
fit-Torn  he  had  been  able  to  see  the  prodigious  efl'ect  which  IIT 
adjuration  had  produced  upon  the  trooper.  His  form  was  fixed  in 
the  advancing  position  in  which  he  stood  when  she  addressed  him. 
His  lips  were  colourless,  and  his  eyes  were  fastened  upon  her  own 
with  a  steadiness  which  was  that  of  paralysis,  and  not  of  decision. 
She,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed  instinct  with  life — a  subtle,  concen 
trated  life.  The  appearance  of  decrepitude  had  gone,  the  eyo  had 
stronger  fire,  the  limbs  seemed  firm  on  the  instant,  aud  there  wa* 


190  THE    PARTISAN'. 

something  exceedingly  high  an-. I  commanding  in  I^er  position.  A 
moment  after,  she  sank  back  in  li^r  chair  almost  exhausted — the 
two  cats  anxiously  purring  about  her,  having  stood  at  her  side,  as 
if  bent  to  co-operate  in  her  defence,  on  the  first  approach  of  Hum 
phries.  He  now  recovered  from  the  superstitious  awe  which  had 
momentarily  possessed  him  ;  and  heartily  ashamed  of  the  show  of 
violence  to  which  her  mysterious  speech  had  provoked  him,  began 
to  apologize  for  it  to  Singleton. 

"  I  know  it's  wrong,  major,  and  I  wasn't  exactly  in  my  sober 
senses,  or  I  wouldn't  have  done  it.  But  there's  no  telling  how  she 
provoked  me  ;  and  the  fact  is,  what  she  said  worries  me  no  little 
now ;  and  I  must  know  what  she  meant.  I  say,  mother — Mother 
lilonay  !" 

Her  eyes  now  were  fixed  upon  his  with  a  dull,  inexpressive 
glare,  that  seemed  to  indicate  the  smallest  possible  degree  of  con 
sciousness. 

"  She  is  now  exhausted,  and  cannot  understand  you  ;  certainly 
not  to  satisfy  your  inquiries,"  said  Singleton. 

The  trooper  made  one  or  two  efforts  more,  but  she  refused  all 
answer,  and  showed  her  determination  to  be  silent  by  turning  her 
face  from  them  to  the  wall.  Finding  nothing  was  to  be  got  out 
of  her,  Singleton  placed  beside  her  upon  the  chair  a  note  of  the 
continental  currency,  of  large  amount  but  for  its  depreciated  value; 
then,  without  more  words,  they  left  the  hovel  to  its  wretched 
tenant,  both  much  relieved  upon  emerging  into  the  open  air.  The 
severity  of  the  storm  had  now  greatly  subsided  ;  the  rain  still  con 
tinued  falling,  however,  and,  hopeless  of  any  farther  discoveries  of 
the  fugitive  they  had  pursued,  and  as  ignortnt  of  his  character  as 
at  first,  they  moved  onward,  rapidly  pushing  for  their  bivouac  upon 
tiie  Ashlev. 


CHAPTER    XVI*. 

"  Cowman*  with  him,  *nd  fear  not.     Foul  though  h«  fc« 
Tky  dettiny  is  kindred  with  his  own, 
And  that  secures  thec." 

THEY  had  scarcely  gone  from  sight,  when  Goggle  entered  the 
dwelling.  The  old  hag  started  from  her  seeming  stupor,  and  all 
her  features  underwent  a  change.  She  fondled  upon  her  son  with 
all  the  feeble  drivelling  of  age  ;« called  him  by  various  affectionate 
diminutives,  and  busied  herself,  in  spite  of  her  infirmities,  waddling 
about  from  corner  to  corner  of  the  hut,  to  administer  to  his  desires, 
which  were  by  no  means  few.  lie,  on  the  other  hand,  manifested 
the  most  brutal  indifference  to  aii  her  regards,  shook  her  off  rudely 
as  she  hung  upon  his  shoulders,  and,  with  a  boisterous  manner,  and 
a  speech  coupled  with  an  oath,  demanded  his  supper,  at  the  same 
time  throwing  himself,  with  an  air  of  extreme  indolence,  along  the 
bed. 

"  And,  Neddy  dear,  what  nas  kept  you  so  .ate  ?  Where  have 
you  been,  and  whence  come  }uu  last?"  were  the  repeated  questions 
of  the  old  woman. 

"  A 'drat  it !  mother — wih  you  never  oe  done  asking  questions  ? 
It's  not  so  late,  I'm  sure." 

"  Later  than  you  said  ;  much  later,  by  two  hours,  boy." 

"  Well,  if  it  is,  what  then  :  It's  well  ^rou  have  me  at  all,  foi 
I've  had  a  narrow  chance  of  it.  Swow  !  but  the  bullets  sung  over 
my  ears  too  close  for  comfort." 

"  You  don't  say  so,  Ned  !  What !  that  stark,  bull-head  Hum 
phries,  has  he  shot  at  you,  riied,  my  sou  ?" 

"  Him  or  Singleton,  a — n  em.  Hut  I  have  a  hitch  on  him  now 
that  shall  swing  him.  lie  p!«ys  'possum  no  longer  with  Huck,  if 
you  have  a  tongue  in  your  nead,  mother." 

"  Who— I  ?     What  am  1  to  do,  Ned,  boy  !     Is  it  to  put  Bill 


192  THE    PARTISAN. 

Humphries  iu  trouble  ?     If  it's  that,  I  hare  the  heart  to  do  it,  if  it's 
only  for  his  talk  to-night." 

"  Yes,  I  heard  it." 

"  You  ! .   Why,  where  were  you,  Ned  ?" 

"There." 

He  pointed  to  the  end  of  the  hovel,  where,  snugly  concealed  on 
the  outside,  his  eye,  piercing  through  a  hole  between  the  logs,  had 
witnessed  all  that  had  taken  place  in  the  apartment  while  the  parti 
sans  held  it. 

"And  you  heard  and  saw  all?"  said  the  old  woman.  "You 
heard  his  foul  speech,  and  you  saw  him  lift  his  hand  to  strike  me 
because  I  spoke  to  him  as  he  deserved !  But  he  dared  not — no,  he 
dared  not !  'Twas  as  much  as  his  life  was  worth  to  lay  hands  on  me. 
His  arm  should  have  withered !  That  it  should." 

"  Psho !  Psho !  withered  !"  exclaimed  the  son  scornfully.  JBhe 
might  deceive  herself,  but  not  him. 

"  But  who  was  the  other  man,  Neddy — the  Captain  ?" 

"  His  name's  Singleton,  and  lie's  a  major  of  the  continentals— 
that's  all  I  know  about  him.  He  took  me  prisoner  with  some  others 
of  Travis's,  and  I  joined  his  troop,  rather  than  fare  worse.  Tliis 
gives  me  picV'ngs  .on  both  sides;  for  since  I've  joined  we've  had 
email  work  in  skirmishing;  and  down  at  Archdale  Hall  we  made  a 
splash  at  Huck's  baggage- wagons,  and  got  good  spoil.  See,  here's 
a  watch — true  gold ! — was  this  morning  in  a  red-coat's  fob,  now  in 
mine." 

"  It's  good  gold,  and  heavy,  ray  son  ; — will  give  you  yellow-boys 
enough." 

"  Ay,  could  we  sell — but  that's  the  devil.  It  comes  from  a  British 
pocket,  and  we  can't  venture  to  offer  it  to  any  of  their  colour.  As 
for  the  continentals,  they  haven't  got  any  but  their  ragged  currency, 
and  that  nobody  wants.  We  must  keep  the  watch  for  a  good 
chance,  for  that  and  other  reasons.  I  took  it  from  a  prisoner  by 
sleight  of  hand,  and  it -must  not  be  known  that  I  have  it.  on  either 
side.  Proctor  would  punish,  and  the  young  fellow  Singleton,  who 
has  an  eye  like  a  hawk,  he  would  not  stop  to  give  me  a  swinging 
bough  if  he  thought  I  took  it  from  one  of  his  prisoners." 

"  Give  it  to  me,  boy :  I'll  save  you  that  risk." 


SUPPER.  193 

"You  shall  do  more,  mother ;  but  first  get  the  supper.  I'm  hell- 
i»h  hungry,  and  tired  out  with  the  chase  I've  had.  A'drat  it  I  my 
bones  are  chilled  with  the  mud  and  water." 

"  There's  a  change  in  the  chest,  boy,  beside  you.  Put  the  wet 
clothes  oft'." 

"  It's  too  troublesome,  and  they'd  only  get  wet  too ;  for  I  must 
start  back  to  the  camp  directly."  , 

"  What  camp  ?" 

"  Singleton's — down  upon  the  river — five  miles  below  the  Barony. 
I  must  be  there,  and  let  him  see  me,  or  he'll  suspicion  me,  and  move 
off.  You  will  have  to  carry  the  message  to  Proctor." 

"What,  boy!  will  you  go  back  and  put  your  neck  in  danger? 
Suppose  he  finds  you  missing  ?"  • 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  him  the  truth,  so  far  as  the  truth  will  answer  the 
purpose  of  a  lie.  I'll  say  that  I  came  to  see  you,  and,  having  done 
so,  have  come  back  to  my  duty.  They  cannot  find  fault,  for  the 
troopers  every  now  and  then  start  off  without  leave  or  license.  I'm 
only  a  volunteer,  you  see." 

"  Take  care,  boy  ;  you  will  try  the  long  lane  once  too  often. 
They  suspect  you  now,  I  know,  from  the  askings  of  that  fellow 
Humphries ;  and  him  too,  the  other — what's  his  name  ? — he,  too, 
asked  closely  after  you." 

"  Singleton.     I  heard  him." 

"  What  Singleton  is  that,  boy  ?  Any  kin  to  the  Singletons  here 
away  in  St.  Paul's  ?" 

"  No,  I  believe  not.  He's  from  the  '  High  Hills,'  they  say,  (hough 
he  has  friends  at  '  The  Oaks.'  It  was  there  he  went  to-night.  But 
the  supper,  mother — is  it  all  ready  ?" 

''  Sit  and  eat,  boy.  There's  hoecake  and  bacon,  and  some  cold 
col  lards." 

"Any  rum  ?"  he  inquired,  rising  sluggishly  from  the  bed,  and  ap 
proaching  the  little  table  which,  while  the  preceding  dialogue  had 
been  going^  on,  his  mother  had  supplied  with  the  edibles  enumerated. 
She  handed  him  the  jug,  from  which,  undiluted,  he  drank  freely, 
following  the  stronger  liquid  with  a  moderate  draught  from  the 
gourd  of  water  which  she  broujyht  him  at  the  same  moment.  While 
h«  ate,  he  muttered  occasioiialh  to  his  mother,  who  hung  around 


194  THE    PARTISAN. 

him  all  the  while  in  close  attendance,  regarding  the  besmeared,  >«a)- 
iow,  and  disfigured  wretch  with  as  much  affection  as  if  he  had  beer, 
the  very  choicest  of  all  God's  creatures.  Such  is  the  heart,  erring 
continually  in  its  appropriation  of  sympathies,  which,  though  intrin 
sically  they  may  be  valueless,  are  yet  singularly  in  proof  of  that 
care  of  nature,  which  permits  no  being  to  go  utterly  uublest  by  iu 
regard,  and  bestows  on  every  homestead,  however  lowly,  sonic  por 
tion  of  its  soothing  and  its  sunshine. 

Goggle  had  eaten,  and  now,  like  a  gorged  snake,  he  threw  nimsrlf 
once  more  at  length  upon  the  couch  that  stood  in  the  corner,  grum 
bling,  as  he  did  so — 

"  A'drat  it !  I  hate  to  go  out  again  !  But  I  must — I  must,  go 
back  to  camp,  to  blind  Singleton-;  and  as  for  that  fellow  Humphries, 
hear  you,  mother — I  was  in  the  pond  by  Coburn's  corner  when  he 
came  upon  me,  and  just  about  to  cross  it.  They  called  out,  and 
crack,  crack  went  their  pistols,  and  the  balls  both  times  whizzed 
close  above  my  head.  It  was  then  they  gave  chase,  and  I  lay  close, 
and  hugged  the  hollow.  Singleton's  horse  stood  right  across  me, 
and  I  expected  his  hoofs  every  moment  upon  my  back." 

"  You  don't  say  so,  Neddy  ?" 

"Ay,  but  I  do — but  that's  not  it.  The  danger  was  something, 
to  be  sure,  but  even  then  I  could  listen — I  could  hear  all  they  said  ; 
and  I  had  reason  to  listen,  too,  for  it  was  of  me  Humphries  spoke. 
The  keen  chap  suspected  me  to  be  the  man  they  chased,  though 
they  could  not  make  me  out ;  and  so  he  spoke  of  me.  Can  you 
count  up  what  he  said,  mother?" 

"  No,  Neddy  ;  how  should  I  ?" 

"What!  and  you  tell  fortunes,  too,  and  bewitch,  so  that  all  of 
them  call  you  cattle  charmer,  yet  you  can't  tell  what  Bill  Humphries 
spoke  about  me,  your  own  son !  For  I  reckon  I  am  your  son,  no 
matter  who  was  my  right  father  ! — Can  you  not  tell, — eh  ?" 

"  No,  sure  not :  some  foul  speech,  T  reckon,  considering  who 
spoke  it." 

"  Ay,  foul  speech  enough,  if  you  knew.  But  the  long  and  short 
of  it,  mother,  is  this,  and  I  put  the  question  to  you  plainly,  and  ex 
pect  you  to  answer  plainly — " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  so^  ** 


THE    HAG    ENRAGED.  195 

"  Ay,  that's  it— I'm  your  son,  I  believe  that ;  but  tell  me,  and 
tell  me  truly — who  was  my  father  ?  It  was  of  that  that  Humphries 
spoke.  He  spoke  for  all  the  country  round,  and  something,  too,  I've 
heard  of  before.  He  said  I  was  no  better  than  my  father ;  that  lie 
was  a  horse-thief,  and  what  was  worse,  that  I  had  a  cross  iu  my 
blood.  Speak,  now,  mother — speak  out  truly,  for  you  see  I'm  in 
no  passion  ;  for,  whether  it's  true  or  not,  I  will  have  it  out  of  him 
(hat  spoke  it,  before  long,  some  way  or  other.  If  it's  true,  so  much 
the  worse  for  him,  for  I  can't  cut  your  throat,  mother— -I  can't  drink 
your  blood  ;  but  what  I  can  do,  I  will,  and  that  is,  have  the  blood 
of  the  man  that  knows  and  speaks  of  your  misdoings." 

That  affectionate  tenderness  of  manner  which  she  had  heretofore 
shown  throughout  the  interview,  passed  away  entirely  after  this 
inquiry  of  Goggle.  She  was  no  Ibnger  the  mother  of  her  son.  A 
haggard  scorn  was  in  every  feature — a  hellish  revival  of  angry  pas 
sions,  of  demoniac  hate,  and  a  phrensied  appetite.  As  she  looked 
upon  the  inquirer,  who,  putting  such  a  question,  yet  lay,  and  seem 
ingly  without  emotion,  sluggishly  at  length  upon  her  couch,  her  ire 
seemed  scarcely  restrainable — her  figure  seemed  to  dilate  in  every 
part — and,  striding  across  the  floor  with  a  rapid  movement,  hostile 
seemingly  to  the  generally  enfeebled  appearance  of  her  frame,  she 
stood  directly  before,  and  looking  down  upon  him — 

"  And  are  you  bent  to  hearken  to  such  foul  words  of  your  own 
mother,  bringing  them  home  to  my  ears,  when  your  bullet  should 
have  gone  through  the  head  of  the  speaker?" 

"  All  in  good  time,  mother.  The  bullet  should  have  gone  through 
his  head  but  for  an  accident.  But  it's  well  it  did  not.  He  would 
have  died  then  in  a  moment.  When  I  kill  him  now,  he  shall  feel 
himself  dying,  I  warrant." 

"  ft  is  well,  boy.  .Such  a  foul  speaker  should  have  a  death  of 
(error — he  deserves  it." 

"  Ay,  but  that's  neither  here  nor  there,  mother, — you  have  not 
answered  my  question.  Speak  out;  was  I  born  lawfully  ?" 

"  Lawfully  ! — and  what  care  you,  Ned  Blonay,  about  the  lawful 
ness  or  the  unlawfulness  of  your  birth — you  who  hourly  tight 
against  the  laws — who  rob,  who  burn,  who  murder,  whenever  a 
chauce  offers,  and  care  not  ?  Is  it  not  your  pleasure  to  break  the 


196  THE   PARTISAN. 

laws — to  live  on  the  profits  and  the  property  of  others  ?  Whence 
came  the  purse  you  brought  here  last  week,  but  from  the  red-Cent 
who  travelled  with  you  as  a  friend,  and  you,  all  the  time  receiving 
pay  from  his  people  ?  Whence  came  this  watch  you  just  now  put 
into  my  hands,  but  from  your  prisoner  ?  and  the  hog  of  which  you 
ate  for  supper,  your  own  rifle  shot  it  in  the  swamp,  although  you 
saw  the  double  fork  in  the  ear,  and  the  brand  on  its  quarter,  which 
told  you  it  belonged  to  Squire  Walton,  at  '  The  Oaks  ?' — what  do 
you  care  about  the  laws,  then,  that  you  would  have  me  answer  your 
question  '?" 

"  Nothing  ;  I  don't  care  (hat  for  all  the  laws  in  the  country — not 
that !  But  still  I  wish  to  know  the  truth  of  this  matter.  It's  for 
my  pleasure.  I  like  to  know  the  truth  ;  whether  T  mind  it  or  not 
is  another  thing."  • 

"  Your  pleasure,  boy — your  pleasure !  and  what  if  I  tell  you 
that  Humphries  spoke  true — that  you  are — " 

"  A  bastard  !  speak  it  out — I  want  to  hear  it ;  and  it  will  give 
me  pleasure — I  love  that  which  provokes  me.  I  can  smile  when 
one  does  me  an  injury — smile  all  the  time  I  bear  it  quietly,  for  I 
think  of  the  time  when  I'm  to  take  pay  for  it.  You  don't  under 
stand  this,  perhaps,  and  I  can't  give  you  any  reason  to  make  it 
more  plain.  But  so  I  do — and  when  Humphries  had  done 
speaking,  I  would  have  given  something  handsome  to  have  had 
him  talk  it  over  again.  When  I  have  him  in  my  power,  he  shall 
do  so." 

"  The  Indian  blood !  It  will  show  itself  anyhow  !" — was  th« 
involuntary  exclamation  of  the  old  woman. 

"  Ha !  what's  that,  mother  !M 

u  Ask  me  not." 

"Ay,  but  I  will — I. must;  and  hear  me  once  for  all— you  tell 
me  the  truth,  on  the  instant,  or  you  never  see  my  face  again.  Fll 
go  to  the  Indies  with  Sir  Charles  Montague,  that's  making  up  a 
regiment  in  Charleston  for  that  country." 

"  Beware,  boy — ask  mo  not — any  thing  else.  You  will  hate  me 
if  I  tell  you.  You  will  leave  me  for  ever." 

"  No — don't    be  afraid.     Come,  speak    out,  and   say — was    my 
name  Blouay  '•' 


SAVAGE   CURIOSITY.  197 

"  Blonay  was  my  lawful  husband,  boy,  when  you  were  born," 
•aid  the  woman,  evasively. 

"  Ay,  that  may  be  well  enough,"  he  exclaimed,  "  yet  I  be  no  son 
of  his.  Speak  the  truth,  mother,  aud  no  two  bites  of  a  cherry. 
Out  with  it  all — you  can't  vex  me  by  telling  it.  Look  here — see 
this  wound  on  my  arm — when  it  begins  to  heal,  I  rub  it  until  it 
.  unscars  and  grows  red  and  angry  again.  I  like  the  pain  of  it.  It's 
strange,  I  know,  but  it's  my  pleasure ;  and  so  I  look  to  be  pleased 
with  the  story  you  shall  tell  me.  Was  Blonay  my  father  ?" 

"  He  was  not." 

"  Good ! — who  was  ?" 

"  Ask  no  more." 

"  Ay,  but  I  will — I  must  have  it  all — so  speak  on." 

"  I  will  not  speak  it  aloud — I  will  not.     I  have  sworn  it." 

"  You  must  unswear  it.  I  cannot  be  trifled  with.  You  must 
tell  me  the  secret  of  my  birth,  and  all.  I  care  not  how  dark,  how 
foul,  how  unlawful — you  must  suppress  nothing.  This  night  must 
give  me  the  knowledge  which  I  have  wanted  before — this  night  you 
speak  it  freely,  or  lose  me  for  ever." 

The  woman  paced  the  apartment  convulsively,  undergoing,  at 
every  moment,  some  new  transition,  from  anger  and  impatience,  to 
entreaty  and  humbleness.  Now  she  denounced  the  curiosity  of  her 
son,  and  now  she  implored  his  forgiveness.  But  she  cursed  or  im 
plored  in  vain.  He  lay  coolly  and  sluggishly,  utterly  unmoved,  ak 
length,  upon  the  bed  ;  heedless  of  all  her  words,  and  now  and  then 
simply  assuring  her  that  nothing  would  suffice  but  the  true  narrative 
of  all  that  he  wished  to  know.  Finding  evasion  hopeless,  the  old 
woman  seemed  to  recover  her  own  coolness  and  strength  with  the 
resolve  which  she  had  taken,  and  after  a  little  pause  for  preparation, 
she  began. 

"Ned  Blonay,  it  is  now  twenty-nine  years  since  you  were 
born—" 

"  Not  quite,  mother,  not  quite, — twenty-eight  and  some  seven 
months.  Let's  see,  November,  you  remember,  was  my  birthday, 
and  then  I  was  but  twenty-eight ;  but  go  on,  it's  not  important — * 

"  Twenty-eight  or  twenty-nine,  it  matters  not  which — you  were 
oorn  lawfully  the  son  of  John  Blonay,  and  as  such  he  knew  aud 
0 


108  THE  PAi 

believed  you.  Your  true  father  was  an  Indian  of  tb?  Catawba 
'nation,  who  passed  through  the  Cypress  the  year  before  on  his  way 
to  the  city." 

"  Go  on — the  particulars." 

"  Ask  not  that — not  that,  boy ;  I  pray  ye — " 

"  All— all." 

"  I   will   not — I  cannot — it  was  my  wickedness — my   shocking 
wickedness !     I  will  not  speak  it  aloud  for  worlds." 

"  Speak  it  you  must,  but  you  may  whisper  it  in  my  ears. 
Stoop—" 

She  did  so,  passively  as  it  were,  and  in  a  low  tone,  broken  onlv 
by  her  own  pauses  and  his  occasional  exclamation?,  she  poured 
into  his  ear  a  dark,  foul  narrative  of  criminal  intercourse,  provoked 
on  her  part  by  a  diseased  appetite,  resulting,  as  it  would  seem,  in 
punishment,  in  the  birth  of  a  monster  like  himself.  Yet  he  listened 
to  it,  if  not  passively,  at  least  without  any  show  of  emotion  or  in 
dignation;  and  as  she  finished,  and  hurrying  away  from  him  threw 
herself  into  her  old  seat,  and  covered  her  skinny  face  with  her 
hands,  he  simply  thrust  his  fingers  into  the  long  straight  black 
hair  depending  over  his  eyes,  which  'seemed  to  cany  confirmatory 
evidence  enough  for  the  support  of  the  story  to  which  he  had 
listened.  He  made  no  other  movement,  but  appeared,  for  a  while. 
busy  in  reflection.  She  every  now  and  then  looked  towards  him 
doubtfully,  and  with  an  aspect  which  had  in  it  something  of  ap 
prehension.  At  length,  rising,  though  with  an  air  of  effort,  from 
the  couch,  he  took  a  paper  from  his  pocket  which  he  studied  a 
little  while  by  the  blaze  in  the  chimney,  then  approaching  her,  he 
spoke  in  language  utterly  unaffected  by  what  he  had  heard — 

"Hark  ye,  mother;  I  shall  now  go  back  to  the  camp.  It's 
something  of  a  risk,  but  nothing  risk,  nothing  gain  ;  and  if  I  run 
a  risk,  it's  for  something.  I  go  back  to  blind  Singleton,  for  T  shall 
tell  him  all  the  truth  about  my  coming  here,  lie  won't  do  any 
thing  more  than  scold  a  little,  for  the  thing's  common ;  but  if  he 
should—" 

"  What,  my  son  ? — speak  !" 

"No,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "no  danger  of  that — he  dare  not. 
But  you  come,  mother,—  come  to  the  camp  by  sunrise,  and  *e« 


TREACHERY    PLANNED.  199 

what  you  can.  You'll  be  able  to  prove  I  was  with  you  after  the 
storm,  and  that'll  clear  me ;  then  you  can  go  to  Dorchester,  make 
all  haste,  and  with  this  paper,  see  Proctor,  and  put  it  in  his  own 
hands  yourself.  There's  some  news  in  it  he  will  be  glad  to  pay 
for.  It  tells  him  something  about  the  camp  ;  and  that  about' Col. 
Walton,  shall  make  him  fly  from  '  The  Oaks,'  as  an  old  owl  from 
the  burning  cypress.  You  can  also  tell  him  what  you  see  at  camp, 
and  so  use  your  eyes  when  you  come  there.  Mind,  too,  if  you  see 

u^;k  or  any  of  his  men,  keep  dark.  He  would  chouse  you  out 
of  all  the  pay,  and  get  the  guineas  for  himself;  and  you  might 
whistle  for  your  share." 

He  gave  her  a  dirty  paper  as  he  spoke,  in  which  he  had  care 
fully  noted  down  every  particular  relating  to  his  new  service,  the 
force,  the  deeds,  and  the  camp  of  Singleton — all  that  he  thought 
would  be  of  value  to  the  enemy.  She  heard  him,  but  did  not  ap 
prove  of  his  return  to  the  camp.  The  conference  with  Singleton 
and  Humphries,  together  with  the  undisguised  hostility  of  the 
latter,  had  filled  her  mind  with  troublesome  apprehensions;  and 
she  warned  her  son  accordingly ;  but  he  took  little  heed  of  her 
counsel. 

"  I'm  bent  upon  it,  mothei,  for  it's  a  good  business.  You  come 
— that's  all,  and  say  when  and  where  you've  seen  me  to-night. 
Come  soon — by  sunrise,  and  I'll  get  off  clear,  and  stand  a  better 
chance  of  being  trusted  by  the  commander." 

"And  Bill  Humphries T' 

"  Ah  !  he  must  have  his  swing.  Let  him.  The  dog  swallows 
his  legs  at  last,  and  so  will  he.  I  only  wait  the  time,  and  shall 
then  shut  up  his  mouth  in  a  way  shall  be  a  lesson  to  him  for 
ever — in  a  way  he  shan't  forget,  and  shan't  remember.  He  shall 
feel  me  before  long." 

"  And  he  shall  feel  me  too,  the  reprobate ;  he  shall  know  that  1 
have  a  power,  though  he  laughs  at  it." 

"  A'drat  it,  but  it's  dark,  mother ;  a  thick  cloud's  yet  over  the 
moon,  and  but  a  sloppy  path  for  a  shy  foot,  but  it  must  be  done. 
There's  some  old  hound  yelping  yonder  in  the  woods  ;  he  don't 
like  being  out  any  more  than  myself." 

"  You  will  go,  Ned  1'    ind  the  old  woman's  hand  was  on  ku 


200  THE    PARTISAN. 

shoulder.  He  shoved  it  off  with  something  of  hurry,  while  h* 
answered — 

"  Yes.  yes ;  and  be  sure  you  come,  and  when  you  have  helped 
me  out  of  the  scrape,  go,  off-hand,  to  Proctor.  See  him,  himself; 
— don't  let  them  put  you  off.  He  will  pay  well  and  not  chouse 
you,  for  he's  a  true  gentleman.  Good-night — good-night." 

She  watched  him  from  the  door-way  until  he  was  completely 
lost  from  sight  in  the  adjacent  forest. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

14  Ok  cruel!  and  the  shame  of  inch  «  wound 
Makrii  in  the  heart  a  deeper  <jash  than  all 
It  made  upon  thn  form  " 

SINGLETON  and  Humphries  were  bailed  as  they  approached  the 
patrols  by  the  voice  of  Lance  Frampton,  the  younger  son  of  the 
maniac.  He  had  volunteered  to  fill  the  post  which  had  been  de 
serted  by  Goggle.  He  reported  the  absence  of  the  half-breed,  and 
was  gratified  by  receiving  from  his  commander  a  brief  compliment 
upon  his  precision  and  readiness.  Such  approval  was  grateful  to 
the  boy,  coming  from  Singleton  ;  for  the  gentle  manner  of  the 
latter  had  already  won  greatly  on  his  affections.  Young  Framp 
ton,  though  but  sixteen,  was  manly  and  fearless,  full  of  ambition, 
and  very  promising.  He  rode  well,  and  could  use  his  rifle  already 
with  the  best  shots  of  the  country.  The  unsettled  life  of  the  par 
tisan  warrior  did  not  seem  to  disagree  with  his  tender  years,  so  far 
as  he  had  already  tried  it ;  and  his  cheerless  fortunes,  indeed,  al 
most  denied  him  the  choice  of  any  other.  Still,  though  manly 
in  most  respects,  something  of  sadness  rested  upon  his  pale  coun 
tenance,  which  was  soft  like  that  of  a  girl,  and  quite  unlike  the 
bronzed  visages  common  to  the  sunny  region  in  which  he  had 
been  born  and  lived.  In  addition  to  the  leading  difference  between 
himself  and  the  people  of  his  own  condition  around  him,  his  tastes 
were  naturally  fine,  his  feelings  delicate  and  susceptible,  his  impres 
sions  acute  and  lasting.  He  inclined  to  Major  Singleton  intuitively ; 
as  the  manly  freedom  and  ease  of  deportment  for  which  his  com 
mander  was  distinguished,  were  mingled  with  a  grace,  gentlenc.-w, 
and  pleasant  propriety,  to  which  his  own  nature  insensibly  beguiled 
him.  He  saluted  them,  as  we  have  already  said,  with  becoming 
modesty,  unfolded  his  intelligence,  and  then  quieUy  sank  back  to 
his  position. 

Humphries  did  not  se«tn  much  surprised  at  th«  mtolligenoe. 

9* 


THE     PARTISAN. 

"  As  I  expected,"  he  said ;  "  it's  the  nature  of  the  beast.  The 
fellow  was  a  bora  skunk,  and  he  will  die  one.  There's  no  mending 
that  sort  of  animal,  major,  and  there's  little  use,  and  some  danger, 
to  waste  time  on  it." 

u  How  long  is  it,  Lam  ?,  since  his  departure  became  known  to 
Lieutenant  Davis?"  was  the  inquiry  of  Singleton. 

"  Not  a  half-hour,  sir.  When  Lieutenant  Davis  went  the  rounds, 
sir,  to  relieve  him,  the  place  was  empty,  and  he  said  Goggle  must 
have  gone  before  the  storm  came  up." 

"  Had  you  the  storm  here,  Lance  ?"  inquired  Humphries. 

"  Not  much  of  it,  sir.  It  swept  more  to  the  left,  and  must  have 
been  heavy  where  it  went,  for  the  roaring  of  the  wind  was  louder 
here  than  it  felt.  The  trees  doubled  a  little,  but  didn't  give — only 
some  that  had  the  hearts  eaten  out.  They  went  down,  sir,  at  the 
first  push  of  the  hurricane." 

Singleton  conferred  briefly  with  Humphries,  and  then  despatched 
the  boy  to  Davis,  with  instructions  to  place  the  party  in  moving 
order  by  sunrise — the  two  officers,  riding  more  slowly  in  the  same 
direction,  conferred  upon  future  arrangements. 

"  That  fellow's  absence,  Humphries,  will  compel  us  to  change  our 
quarters,  for  his  only  object  must  be  to  carry  the  news  to  Dorchester.'' 

"  That's  it,  for  certain,  major ;  and  the  sooner  we  more  the 
better.  By  midday  to-morrow,  Proctor  and  Huck,  and  the  whole 
of  'em  would  be  on  our  haunches,  and  we  only  a  mouthful.  A 
start  by  the  time  the  sun  squints  on  the  pine  tops,  sir,  would  do  no 
barm  ;  and  then,  if  you  move  up  to  Moultrie's  old  camp  at  Bacon's 
bridge,  it  will  be  far  enough  to  misguide  them  for  the  present. 
From  the  bridge,  you  see,  you  can  make  the  swamp  almost  at  ant 
moment,  and  yet  it's  not  so  far  but  you  can  get  to  '  The  Oaks'  soon 
as  ever  Proctor  turns  back  upon  Dorchester." 

"  What  force  has  he  there,  think  you  ?" 

"  Not  enough  to  go  far,  sir,  or  stay  out  long.  The  garrison's  but 
slim,  and  Iluck  is  for  the  up  country,  1  heard  him  say.  He  may 
give  you  a  drive  before  he  goes,  for  he  is  mighty  ready  to  please 
Proctor ;  but.  then  he  goes  by  Monk's  corner,  and  so  on  up  to  Nel 
son's  ferry  ;  and  it  will  be  out  of  his  way  to  set  upon  you  at  Moul- 
tri«V 


STRATEGICS.  208 

"Why  does  he  take  that  route,  when  his  course  is  for  the  Ca- 
tawba «" 

"  Ha  !  sir,  you  don't  know  Hack.  He's  <iu  old  scout,  and  knows 
where  the  best  picking  lies.  He  goes  along  that  route,  sir,  skim 
ming  it  like  so  much  cream  as  he  goes ;  and  woe  to  the  housekeeper, 
loyalist  or  whig,  that  gives  him  supper,  and  shows  him  too  much 
plate.  Hack  loves  fine  things  ;  and  tor  that  matter,  plunder  of  any 
kiud  never  goes  amiss  with  a  tory." 

"  True ;  and  the  course  he  takes  through  Sumter  gives  him 
spoil  enough,  if  he  dares  touch  it ;  but  Marion  will  soon  be  at  Nel 
son's,  where  we  hope  to  meet  him.  Let  us  ride  on  now,  and  see  to 
our  movement." 

"  With  your  leave,  now,  major,  I'll  go  back  to  Dorchester." 

"  With  what  object  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  only,  as  one  may  say,  to  curse  and  quit.  That  rascai 
Goggle  will  be  in  Proctor's  quarters  by  daylight,  and  will  soon 
have  a  pretty  story  for  the  major.  I  must  try  and  get  there  before 
him,  so  as  to  stop  a  little  the  blow.  Since  it  must  come,  it  needn't 
come  on  anybody's  head  but  mine  ;  and  if  I  can  keep  my  old  father 
from  trap,  why,  you  see,  sir,  it's  my  born  duty  to  do  so." 

"  How  will  you  do  that  ?" 

"  I'll  tell  you,  sir.  .  Dad  shall  go  to  Proctor  before  Goggle,  and 
shall  denounce  me  himself.  He  shall  make  something  out  of  the 
Englishman  by  his  loyalty,  and  chouse  Goggle  at  the  same  time. ' 
Besides,  sir,  he  will  be  able  to  tell  a  truer  story,  for  he  shall  say 
that  we've  gone  from  the  camp,  which,  you  know,  will  be  the  case 
by  that  time.  So,  if  he  looks  for  us  here,  as  Goggle  will  advise 
him,  the  old  man  will  stand  better  than  ever  in  the  good  graces  of 
the  enemy ;  and  will  be  better  able  to  give  us  intelligence,  and  help 
our  cause." 

"  But  will  your  father  like  such  a  mission  ?" 

"  Like  it,  major  !  why,  aint  I  his  son — his  only  son — and  won't 
he  do,  think  you,  what  I  ask  him  ?  To  be  sure  he  will.  You 
will  see." 

"  The  plan  is  good,  and  reminds  me  of  Pryor.  You  will  see 
him,  and  hurry  his  recruiting.  Say  to  him,  from  me,  how  much 
Colonel  Marion  expects  fioij.  \.\u-.,  MJ,  indeed,  the  letter  1  gave  hiui 


204-  THE    I'AllTJSAX. 

has  already  persuaded  him.  Remind  him  of  that  letter,  and  let 
him  read  it  to  you.  This  will  please  him,  and  prompt  to  new 
efforts,  should  he  prove  dull.  But  let  him  be  quiet — nothing  impa 
tient,  till  Colonel  Walton  is  prepared  to  start.  Only  keep  in  readi 
ness,  and  wait  the  signal.  For  yourself,  when  you  have  done  this, 
dt-lay  nothing,  and  risk  nothing  in  Dorchester.  You  have  no  plea 
if  found  out ;  and  they  will  hang  you  off  hand  as  soon  as  taken. 
Follow  to  Bacon's  bridge  as  soon  as  possible,  and  if  you  find  me 
not  there,  I  am  either  in  the  swamp,  or  in  the  south  towards  the 
Edisto  ;  possibly  on  the  road  to  Parker's  ferry.  I  wish  to  keep 
moving  to  baffle  any  pursuit." 

Protracted  but  little  longer,  and  only  the  better  to  perfect  their 
several  plans,  the  conference  was  at  length  concluded,  and  the  two 
separated ;  the  one  proceeding  to  his  bivouac,  and  the  other  on  his 
journey  of  peril,  along  the  old  track  leading  to  the  bridge  of  Dor 
chester. 

Singleton  had  scarcely  resumed  command  of  his  squad  before 
the  fugitive  Goggle  stood  before  him,  with  a  countenance  cold  and 
impassive  as  ever,  and  with  an  air  of  assurance  the  most  easy  and 
self-satisfied.  The  eye  of  the  partisan  was  concentrated  upon  him 
with  a  searching  glance,  sternly  and  calmly,  but  he  shrank  not 
beneath  it. 

"  You  have  left  your  duty,  sir — your  post ;  what  have  you  to 
Any  ?" 

The  offender  frankly  avowed  his  error,  but  spoke  in  extenuation. 

"  The  storm  was  coming  up,  sir ;  nobody  was  going  to  trouble 
us,  and  I  thought  a  little  stretch  to  the  old  woman — my  mother, 
sir,  that  is — would  do  no  harm." 

"You  were  wrong,  sir,  and. must  be  punished.  Your  duty  was 
to  obey,  not  to  think.  Lieutenant  Davis,  a  corporal's  guard  !" 

Goggle  looked  somewhat  astounded  at  this  prompt  movement, 
and  urged  the  measure  as  precipitate  and  unusual. 

"  But,  major,  the  troopers  go  off  continually  from  Colonel  Wash 
ington's  troop,  when  they  want  to  see  their  families — " 

"  The  greater  the  necessity  of  arresting  it  in  ours  ;  but  you  will 
make  your  plea  at  morning,  for  with  the  sunrise  you  shall  L* 
examined." 


DRUM-HEAD.  205 

The  guard  appeared,  and  as  the  torch  flamed  above  the  head  of 
the  fugitive,  Singleton  ordered  him  to  be  searched  narrowly.  With 
the  order,  the  ready  soldiers  seized  upon  and  bound  him.  His  rifle 
was  taken  from  his  grasp — a  measure  inexpressibly  annoying  to  the 
offender,  as  it  was  a  favourite  weapon,  and  he  an  excellent  shot 
with  it.  In  the  close  search  which  he  underwent,  his  knife,  and, 
indeed,  everything  in  his  possession,  was  carefully  withdrawn,  and  he 
had  reason  to  congratulate  himself  upon  the  timely  delivery  of  the 
stolen  watch  to  his  mother  ;  for  the  prisoner  from  whom  it  had  been 
taken  had  already  announced  its  loss ;  and  had  it  been  found  upon 
the  thief,  it  would  have  been  matter,  under  the  stern  policy  pur 
sued  by  Singleton,  for  instantly  hurrying  him  to  some  one  of  the 
thousand  swinging  boughs  overhead.  With  the  clear  daylight,  a 
court-martial  at  the  drum-head  sat  in  judgment  on  the  prisoner. 
He  told  his  story  with  a  composure  that  would  have  done  credit  to 
innocence.  There  was  no  contradiction  in  his  narrative.  Singleton 
proposed  sundry  questions. 

"  Why  did  you  not  stand  when  called  to  ?" 

"  I  was  but  one,  major,  and  you  were  two  ;  and  when  the  British 
and  tories  are  thick  about  us,  it  stands  to  reason  that  it  was  them 
calling.  I  didn't  make  out  your  voice." 

"  And  why  did  you  not  proceed  directly  to  your  mother's  ?  Why 
let  so  much  time  elapse  between  the  pursuit  and  your  appearance 
at  her  cabin  ?" 

"  I  lay  close  after  they  had  gone,  major,  for  I  didn't  know  that 
they  had  done  looking  after  me." 

Prompt  and  ready  were  his  several  responses,  and,  apart  from  the 
initial  offence  of  leaving  his  post,  nothing  could  be  ascertained  cal 
culated  to  convict  him  of  any  other  error.  In  the  meantime  lie 
exhibited  no  more  interest  in  the  scene  than  in  the  most  ordinary 
matter.  One  side  of  his  body,  as  was  its  wont,  rested  upon  the 
other ;  one  leg  hung  at  ease,  and  his  head,  sluggish  like  the  rest  of 
his  pei-son,  was  bent  over,  so  as  to  lie  on  his  left  shoulder.  At  this 
stage  of  the  proceedings,  his  mother,  whose  anxieties  had  bee* 
greater  on  the  subject  than  those  of  her  son,  now  made  her  appear 
ance,  tottering  towards  the  group  with  a  step  in  which  energy  and 
feebleness  were  strangely  united.  Her  first  worda  w«re  those  of 
reproach  to  Singleton : — 


206  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  Now,  wherefore,  gentlemen,  do  you  bind  the  boy  ?  Is  it  because 
he  loves  the  old  woman,  his  own  mother  ?  Oh,  for  ehame  !  it's  a 
cruel  shame  to  do  so !  Will  you  not  loose  the  cord  ?" 

She  hobbled  over  to  the  place  where  her  son  stood  alone,  and  her 
bony  fingers  were  for  a  moment  busied  with  the  thongs,  as  if  she 
strove  to  release  him.  The  prisoner  hiraseF  twisted  from  her,  and 
his  repulse  was  not  confined  to  his  action. 

"  A'drat  it,  mother !  have  done.  Say  i/  out  what  you  know,  and 
done  with  it." 

"What  can  you  say,  dame,  in  this  matter?"  inquired  Sin 
gleton. 

"  It's  my  son  you  tie  with  ropes — it's  a  good  son  to  me — will  you 
not  loose  him  ?" 

"  He  has  done  wrong,  dame ;  he  has  left  his  post,  and  has  neglect 
ed  his  duty." 

"  He  came  to  see  his  mother — his  old  mother  ;  to  bring  her  com 
fort,  for  he  had  been  long  away,  and  she  looked  for  him — she  thought 
he  had  had  wrong.  Was  there  harm  in  this  ?" 

"  None,  only  as  he  had  other  duties,  not  less  important,  which 
he  sacrificed  for  this.  But  say  what  you  know." 

She  did  so,  and  confirmed  the  fugitive's  story  ;  was  heard  patient 
ly  through  a  somewhat  tedious  narrative,  in  which  her  own  feeling*, 
and  a  strange  show  of  love  for  the  indifferent  savage,  were  oddly 
blended  with  the  circumstances  which  she  told.  Though  unavailing 
to  save  him  from  punishment,  the  evidence  of  his  mother,  and  her 
obvious  regard,  had  the  effect  of  modifying  its  severity.  The  court 
found  him  guilty,  and  sentenced  him  to  the  lash.  Twenty  lashes, 
and  imprisonment  in  the  discretion  of  the  commander,  were  decreed 
as  his  punishment. 

A  long  howl — a  shriek  of  demoniac  energy — from  the  old 
woman,  as  she  heard  the  doom,  rang  in  the  ears  of  the  party.  Her 
long  skinny  finger  was  uplifted  in  vain  threatenings,  and  her  lips 
moved  in  vague  adjurations  and  curses.  Singleton  regretted  the 
necessity  which  made  him  sanction  the  decree,  but  example  was 
necessary  in  the  lax  state  of  discipline  at  that  time  prevailing  through 
out  the  country.  Marion,  who  was  himself  just  and  inflexible,  had 
made  him  a  disciplinarian. 

"  Ton  will  not  MJ  '  Yes*  to  this,"  cried  the  old  woman  to  Single- 


EXECUTION-.  207 

to*  "  You  are  a  gentleman,  and  your  words  arc  kind.  You  w511 
forgive  the  boy." 

"1  dare  not,  my  good  woman.  Your  son  knew  his  duty,  and 
neglected  it.  We  must  make  an  example,  and  warn  other  offenders. 
The  punishment  is  really  slight  in  comparison  with  that  usually 
given  for  an  offence  so  likely  to  be  fatal  as  this  of  which  your  son 
has  been  guilty.  He  must  submit." 

The  old  woman  raved  furiously,  but  her  son  rebuked  her.  His 
eyes  were  thrown  up  obliquely  to  the  commander,  and  the  expres 
sion  of  his  face  was  that  of  a  sneakiuu;  defiance,  as  he  rudely  enouo-h 

o  •>  o 

checked  her  in  her  denunciations. 

"  Hold  tongue,  mother — a'drat  it !  Can't  you  thank  the  gentle 
men  Tor  their  favour  ?" 

A  couple  of  soldiers  strapped  him  up ;  when,  having  first  taken 
off  his  outer  jacket,  one  of  them,  with  a  common  wagon-whip,  pre 
pared  to  execute  the  sentence,  while  the  old  woman,  almost  in  danger 
from  the  lash,  pressed  closely  to  the  criminal,  now  denouncing  and 
now  imploring  the  court ;  at  one  moment  abusing  her  son  for  his 
folly  in  returning  to  the  camp,  and  the  next,  with  salt  tears  running 
down  her  withered  cheeks,  seeking  to  soothe  and  condole  with  him 
in  his  sufferings.  They  would  have  removed  her  from  the  spot  be 
fore  the  punishment  began,  but  she  threw  herself  upon  the  earth 
when  tlKy  attempted  it,  and  would  only  rise  when  they  forbore  the 
effort.  He,  the  criminal,  was  as  impassive  as  ever.  Nothing  seemed 
to  touch  him,  either  in  the  punishment  he  was  to  receive,  or  the 
agonizing  sensations  which  he  witnessed  in  his  mother,  and  which 
were  all  felt  in  his  behalf.  He  helped  the  soldiers  to  remove  his  vest, 
and  readily  turned  his  back  towards  them,  while,  obliquely  over  his 
.shoulder,  his  huge  staring  eyes  were  turned  to  the  spot  where  Single 
ton  stood,  with  glance  somewhat  averted  from  the  scene  of  ignominy. 

The  first  stroke  was  followed  by  a  piercing  shriek  from  the  old 
woman — a  bitter  shriek  and  a  curse;  but  with  that  stroke  she  began 
counting  the  blows. 

"One" — "two" — her  enumeration  perpetually  broken  by  excla 
mations  of  one  sort  or  another — now  of  pity,  now  of  horror,  denun 
ciation,  and  the  most  impotent  expressions  of  paralytic  rage — in 
gome  such  phrases  aa  the  following  : — "  Tha  poor  boy  !  — his  inothm 


208  THE   PARTISAN. 

never  whipped  him  ! — they  will  murder  him ! — two — for  he  cam« 
to  see  her — three — was  ever  the  like  to  whip  a  son  for  this ! — four 
— God  curse  them  1  God  curse  them  ! — five — I  can  curse,  too,  that 
I  can — they  shall  feel  nit1,  they  shall  hear  me! — six,  seven — that  is 
eight — nine.  Oh,  the  wretches !  hut  bear  up,  Ned,  bear  up — it  is 
half  over — that  is  ten — my  poor  boy !  Oh,  do  not  strike  so  hard  ! 
Look  !  the  red  on  the  shirt — it  is  blood  !  Oh,  wretches  !  have  you 
no  mercy  ? — it  is  most  done — there,  there — stop !  Hell  blast  you 
for  ever ! — that  was  twenty.  Why  did  you  strike  another  ?  T  curse 
you  with  a  black  curse  for  that  other  stroke !  You  ragged  imp  ! — 
you  vile  polecat ! — I  curse  you  for  that  stroke  J" 

The  execution  was  over.  Unflinching  to  the  last,  though  the 
strokes  were  severely  dealt,  the  criminal  had  borne  them.  He 
looked  the  very  embodiment  of  callosity.  His  muscles  were  neither 
composed  nor  rigid  during  the  operation  ;  and  though  the  flesh 
evidently  felt,  the  mood  of  the  wretch  seemed  to  have  undergone  no 
change.  Before  he  could  yet  be  freed  from  the  cords,  his  mother's 
arms  were  thrown  around  him ;  and  though  he  strove  to  shake  her 

O 

off,  and  shrank  from  her  embraces,  she  yet  persisted,  and,  with  a 
childish  fondness,  she  strove,  with  kind  words,  while  helping  him  on 
with  his  jacket,  to  console  him  for  his  sufferings. 

"  And  you  will  go  with  me  now,  Neddy — you  will  go  from  these 
cruel  men  ?" 

"  I  cannot,  mother ;  don't  you  know  I'm  to  be  under  guard  so 
long  as  the  major  chooses !" 

"  He  will  not — you  will  not  tie  him  up  again  ;  you  will  let  hhn 
go  now  with  his  mother." 

She  turned  to  Singleton  as  she  spoke  ;  but  his  eye  refused  her  ere 
his  tongue  replied — 

"  He  will  be  in  custody  for  twelve  hours ;  and  let  rne  say  to  you, 
dame,  that  for  such  an  offence  his  punishment  is  a  very  slight  one. 
Marion's  men  would  suffer  two  hundred  lashes,  and  something 
more  restraint,  for  the  same  crime." 

"  God  curse  him !"  she  said  bitterly,  as  she  again  approached  her 
»on,  with  whom  she  conversed  apart.  He  whispered  but  a  word  iu 
her  ear,  and  then  turned  away  from  her.  She  looked  after  him  a 
Woment,  as  the  guard  marr.hed  him  into  the  rear  but  Lei  finger 


THE    PARTISAN.  209 

was  uplifted  towards  Singleton,  and  the  fierce  fire  shooting  out  from 
her  grey  eye,  and  moving  in  the  direction  of  the  pointed  finger,  was 
long  after  remembered  by  him.  In  a  few  moments  more,  she  was 
gone  from  the  camp,  and,  with  a  degree  of  elasticity  scarcely  com- 
porting  with  her  years,  was  trudging  fast  on  her  way  to  Dor 
chester. 

Waiting  until  she  had  fairly  departed,  Singleton  at.  length  left  his 
camp  on  the  Ashley,  and  leaving  no  traces  of  his  sojourn  but  the 
dying  embers  of  his  fires,  he  led  the  way  towards  the  designated 
encampment  at  Bacon's  Bridge.  This  was  a  few  miles  above  Dor 
chester,  on  the  same  river,  and  immediately  contiguous  to  the  Cy 
press  Swamp.  An  old  battery  and  barracks,  built  by  Genera!  MC?J'- 
trie,  and  formerly  his  station,  prior  to  the  siege  of  Charle  tea,  fur 
nished  a  much  more  comfortable  place  of  abode  than  that  which  he 
had  just  vacated.  Here  he  took  that  repose  which  the  toils  of  the 
last  twenty-four  hours  rendered  absolutely  necessary. 


CHATTER     XIX. 

'  Lot  nor  pulse  beat  a  stroke  the  mure  or  leu 
And  she  were  blotted.     I  will  stand  by  Out  , 

My  judgment  is  her  fear." 

LKAVINO  Singleton,  as  we  have  seen,  as  soon  as  the  absence  of 
Goggle  from  the  camp  was  certainly  known,  Humphries  hurried  on 
nis  returning  route  to  the  village  of  Dorchester.  Cool  and  calcu 
lating,  but  courageous,  the  risk  which  he  ran  was  far  from  incon 
siderable.  How  could  he  be  sure  he  was  not  already,  suspected; 
how  know  that  some  escaping  enemies  had  not  seen  and  given 
intelligence  of  his  presence  among  the  rebels;  and  why  should  not 
the  fugitive  be  already  in  the  garrison  with  Proctor  preparing  the 
schemes  which  were  to  wind  about  and  secure  him  ?  These  questions 
erer  rose  in  his  mind  as  he  surveyed  his  situation  and  turned  over 
his  own  intentions;  but,  though  strong  enough  as  doubts,  they  were 
not  enough  as  arguments,  to  turn  him  from  a  purpose  which  he 
deemed  good  and  useful,  if  not  absolutely  necessary,  lie  dismissed 
them  from  his  thoughts,  therefore,  as  fast  as  they  came  up.  He  was 
a  man  quite  too  bold,  too  enterprising  to  be  discouraged  and  driven 
from  his  plans  by  mere  suggestions  of  risk ;  and  whistling  as  he 
went  a  merry  tune,  he  dashed  forward  through  the  woods,  and  was 
soon  out  of  the  bush  and  on  the  main  road  of  the  route — not  far 
from  the  spot  where,  in  the  pause  of  the  storm,  they  had  stumbled 
upon  the  half-blood,  Blonay. 

The  tree  which  the  lightning  l.ad  stricken  just  beside  the  path, 
was  still  in  flame.  The  rain  could  not  quench  it,  as  the  rich  light- 
wood,  traced  through  every  cavity  of  the  bark  by  the  greedy  fire, 
furnished  a  fuel  not  easily  extinguishable.  The  flame  licked  along 
the  sides,  at  intervals,  up  and  down,  from  top  to  trunk  ;  at  one 
moment,  lost  from  one  place — the  next,  furiously  darting  upon  ano 
ther.  Its  bla/*  showed  him  the  tr.-i.-k  through  (lie  hollow  to  ol<l 


THE    LLAG   ASLEE1'.  211 

Mother  Blonay's,  and,  as  lie  beheld  il,  a  sudden  desire  prompted 
him  once  more  to  look  into  the  dwelling  of  the  old  woman,  lie 
was  strangety  fascinated  ,in  this  direction,  particulai  lv  as  ho  remem- 
bered  the  equivocal  nature  of  the  threat  which  she  had  screamed 
in  his  ear  in  regard  to  his  sister.  "  Goggle,  Goggle,  Goggle  !"  But 
that  he  already  entertained  much  anxiety  in  respect  to  the  girl,  lie 
would  have  attached  no  importance  to  the  unmeaning  syllables. 
But  now,  a  shiver  ran  through  his  frame  while  he  thought  upon 
them! 

"  She  shall  tell  me  what  she  means !"  he  muttered  as  he  went. 

Alighting  from  his  horse,  he  approached  the  hovel,  hitched  the 
animal  to  a  hanging  bough,  and,  with  as  light  a  footstep  as  possi 
ble,  quietly  approached  the  entrance.  Peeping  through  an  aper 
ture  between  the  loose  logs  he  gazed  upon  the  inmate.  There,  still 
in  her  seat  beside  the  fireplace,  she  kept  up  the  same  croning  move 
ment,  to  and  fro,  maintaining  her  balance  perfectly,  yet  last  aslecj 
all  the  while.  Sometimes  her  rocking  would  be  broken  with  a 
start,  but  sleep  had  too  far  possessed  her ;  and  though  her  dog 
barked  once  or  twice  at  the  approach  of  the  stranger,  the  interrup 
tion  in  her  seesaw  was  but  for  a  moment,  and  an  incoherent  mur 
mur  indistinctly  uttered,  only  preceded  her  relapse  into  silence  and 
slumber  as  before.  Beside  her  lay  her  twin  cats — twin  in  size 
though  not  in  colour — a  monstrous  pair,  whose  sleep  emulated  that 
of  their  mistress.  On  a  bench  before  her,  clearly  distinguishable 
in  the  firelight,  Humphries  noted  her  travelling  bundle  with  a  star! 
run  through  it.  This  indicated  her  itinerant  habits,  and  his  con 
clusion  was,  that  the  old  hag,  who  wandered  usually  from  plauta 
tion  to  plantation,  from  hovel  to  hovel,  pretending  to  cure  or  charm 
away  disease,  and  taking  large  collections  in  return  from  the  cha 
ritable,  the  ignorant,  and  superstitious  alike — had  made  her  pupa- 
rations  for  an  early  journey  in  the  morning.  While  he  looked,  his 
own  superstitious  fancies  grew  active  ;  and,  a  cold  shiver  which  he 
could  not  escape,  but,  of  which  he  was  heartily  ashamed,  came  over 
him.  and,  with  a  hurried  step,  he  darted  away  from  the  contempla 
tion  of  a  picture  he  could  not  regard  in  any  other  light  than  as 
one  horrible  and  unholy. 

Humphries  was  uot  the  slave  of  a  feeble  and  childish  super*t»- 


212  THE   PARTISAN. 

tion  ;  but  the  natural  influences  which  affect  the  uneducated  mind 
commonly,  had  their  due  force  on  his.  The  secret  cause  is  always 
mysterious,  and  commonly  produces  enervating  and  vague  fears  in 
the  bosoms  of  all  that  class  of  people  who  engage  in  no  thoughts 
beyond  those  called  for  by  their  everyday  sphere  and  business.  So 
with  him.  He  had  doubts,  and  in  proportion-  with  his  ignorance 
were  his  apprehensions.  Ignorance  is  of  all  things  the  most  appre 
hensive  in  nature.  He  knew  not  whether  she  had  the  power 
that  she  professed,  or  that  any  one  could  possess  such  power,  and 
his  active  imagination  gave  her  all  the  benefit  of  his  doubt.  Still 
he  did  not  fear.  No  one  who  knew  his  usually  bold  character,  his 
recklessness  of  speech  and  action,  would  deem  him  liable  to  any 
fear  from  such  influences  as  were  supposed  to  belong  to  the  withered 
tenant  of  that  isolated  hovel.  And  yet,  when  he  thought  upon  the 
cheerless  life  which  she  led  and  seemed  to  love — when  he  asked 
himself  what  might  be  its  pleasures  or  its  solace — he  could  not 
avoid  feeling  that  in  its  anti-social  evidences  lurked  the  best  proof 
of  its  evil  nature.  Wherefore  should  age,  poverty,  and  feebleness, 
fly  so  far,  and  look  so  harshly  upon,  the  whole  world  around  it  ? 
Why  refuse  its  contiguity  ? — why  deny,  why  shrink  away  from  the 
prospect  of  its  comforts  and  its  blessings  ?  Why  ?  unless  the  mood 
\\ithin  was  hostile — unless  its  practices  were  unfriendly  to  the  com 
mon  good,  as  they  were  foreign  to  the  common  habit,  of  humanity  1 
He  knew,  indeed,  that  poverty  may  at  all  times  sufficiently  account 
for  isolation — that  an  acute  sensibility  may  shrink  from  that  con 
tact  with  the  crowd  which  may,  and  does,  so  frequently  betray  01 
wound  it ;  and  he  also  well  knew  that  there  is  no  sympathy  between 
good  and  bad  fortune,  except  as  the  one  is  apt  to  desire  that  survey 
of  the  other  which  will  best  enable  it  to  comprehend  the  superior 
benefits  of  its  own  position.  But  that  old  woman  had  no  such  sen 
sibilities,  and  her  poverty  was  not  greater — not  so  great,  indeed,  as 
that  of  many  whom  he  knew  besides,  who  yet  clung  to,  and  sought 
to  share  some  of  the  ties  and  regards  of  society,  though  unblessed 
by  the  world's  goods,  and  entirely  out  of  the  hope  of  a  redeeming 
fortune.  Did  he  not  also  know  that  she  exulted  in  the  thought  that 
she  was  feared  by  those  aiound  her,  and  studiously  inculcated  the 
belief  among  the  vulgar,  that  she  possessed  attributes  which  \rer« 


TROUBLE    AT   THE    "  ROYAL    GEORGE."  213 

dangerous  and  unholy  ?  Her  very  pride  was  an  abomination  to 
humanity,  as  her  chief  source  of  satisfaction  seemed  to  lie  in  the 
exercise  of  powers  unwholesome  and  annoying  to  man.  No  won 
der  the  blood  grew  cold  and  curdled  in  the  veins  of  the  blunt  coun 
tryman  as  he  thought  upon  these  matters.  No  wonder  that  h« 
moved  away  to  his  horse,  with  a  rapidity  he  would  not  his  enemy 
should  see,  from  a  spot  over  which,  as  his  mind  dwelt  upon  the 
subject,  such  an  infernal  atmosphere  seemed  to  brood  and  gather. 
'I  he  bark  of  the  dog  as  the  hoofs  of  his  charger  beat  upon  the 
ground  while  he  hurried  along  his  path,  startled  more  completely 
(he  old  hag,  who  half  rose  from  her  seat,  threw  up  her  head  to 
listen,  then,  pushing  the  dismembered  brands  of  her  fire  together, 
composed  herself  once  more  in  her  chair  to  sleep. 

The  evening  of  the  day  upon  the  history  of  which  we  have  been 
engaged,  had  been  rather  remarkable  in  the  annals  of  the  "  Royal 
George."  There  had  been  much  to  disturb  the  waters,  and,  we  may 
add,  the  spirits  in  that  important  domain.  There  had  been  a  par 
tial  sundering  of  ancient  ties — a  violation  of  sometime  sacred 
pledges,  an  awkward  collision  of  various  interests. 

On  the  ensuing  Monday,  Sergeant  Hastings,  of  whom  we  have 
already  seen  either  too  much  or  too  little,  was  to  take  his  departure 
with  the  notorious  Captain  Huck  to  join  Tarleton  on  the  Oatawba. 
The  interval  of  time  between  the  present  and  that  h'xed  for  this,  so 
important,  remove,  was  exceedingly  brief;  but  a  day,  and  that  a 
holiday,  intervened — and  then  farewell  to  the  rum  punch,  the  fair 
coquette,  and  the  pleasant  company  of  the  "  Royal  George." 

The  subject  was  a  melancholy  one  to  all  parties.  The  sergeant 
preferred  the  easy  life,  the  good  company,  the  cheering  liquor  of  the 
tavern,  and  there  were  other  and  less  honourable  objects  yet  in  his 
mind,  unsatisfied,  and  as  far  from  realization  as  ever.  Bella  Hum 
phries  had  too  little  regard  for  him  really  to  become  his  victim, 
(hough  he  had  spared  no  effort  to  that  end.  On  the  contrary,  the 
g:rl  had  latterly  grown  peevish  in  some  respects,  and  he  could  clearly 
perceive,  though  the  cause  remained  unknown,  that  his  influence 
over  her  was  declining.  His  assumption  of  authority,  his  violence, 
and  perhaps  his  too  great  familiarity,  had  wonderfully  lessened  him 
in  her  regard  ;  and,  if  the  truth  HUH',  be  known,  'jlm  Davis  was  in 


214  THE   PARTISAN. 

reality  more  potent  in  her  esteem  than  she  had  been  willing  to 
acknowledge  either  to  that  personage  or  to  herself. 

While  Davis  kept  about  the  tavern,  a  cringing  and  peevish  lover, 
contributing  to  her  conceit  while  acknowledging  her  power,  she  was 
not  unwilling,  with  all  the  thoughtlessness  of  a  weak  girl,  to  trifle 
with  his  affections ;  but  now  that  he  had  absented  himself,  as  ii. 
seemed  for  ever,  she  began  to  comprehend  her  own  loss  ami  tn 
lament  it.  Such  a  consciousness  led  her  to  a  more  close  examina 
tion  of  Hastings's  pretensions,  and  the  result  of  her  analysis  v,;,s 
quite  unfavourable  to  that  worthy.  His  many  defects  of  disposition 
and  character,  his  vulgarity,  his  impudence,  all  grew  remarkably 
prominent  in  her  eyes,  and  he  could  now  see  that,  when  he  would 
say,  in  a  manner  meant  to  be  alluring : — 

"Hark'ee,  Bell,  my  beauty — get  us  a  swig,  pretty  particular,  and 
not  too  strong  o'  the  lemon,  and  not  too  weak  o'  the  Jamaica,  and 
not  too  scant  considering  the  quantity" — there  was  no  sweet  elasti 
city  in  the  utterance  of — 

''  Yes,  sergeant,  certainly, — you  shall  have  it  to  your  liking ;" 
coupled  with  a  gracious  smile  and  a  quickness  of  movement  that 
left  the  time  between  the  order  and  its  instant  execution  a  space 
not  perceptible  even  to  that  most  impatient  person,  himself.  He 
could  feel  the  change  now,  and  as  the  time  allowed  him  was  brief, 
and  opportunities  few,  he  hurried  himself  in  devising  plans  for  the 
better  success  of  a  design  upon  her,  long  entertained,  of  a  character 
the  most  vile  and  nefarious. 

But  his  bill  remained  unpaid  ;  and  this  was  the  worst  feature  in 
the  sight  of  oui  'andlord.  That  evening  (Saturday)  the  worthy 
publican  had  ventured  to  suggest  the  fact  to  the  disregarding 
memory  of  the  sergeant,  who  had,  with  the  utmost  promptness, 
evaded  the  demand.  Some  words  had  passed  between  them — old 
Humphries  had  been  rather  more  spirited,  and  Hastings  rather 
more  insolent  than  usual ;  and  the  latter,  in  search  of  consolation, 
made  his  way  into  the  inner  room  where  Bella  officiated.  To  crown 
his  discontent,  his  approach  was  utterly  unnoticed  by  that  capricious 
damsel.  He  dashed  away  in  dudgeon  from  the  house  at  an  early 
hour,  certainly  less  regretted  by  the  maid  than  by  the  master  of 
the  inn. 


ADVENTURE.  215 

Such  had  been  the  transactions  of  the  evening  of  that  night, 
when,  at  a  late  hour,  Humphries  approached  the  dwelling  of  hin 
father.  The  house  lay  in  perfect  shadow  as  he  drew  nigh  the  outer 
buildings,  in  the  rear  of  one  of  which  he  carefully  secured  his  horse. 
The  moon,  obscured  during  the  early  part  of  the  evening,  and  dim 
throughout  the  night,  had  now  sunk  westering  so  far,  that  it  failed 
to  touch  entirely  the  close  and  sheltered  court  in  front  of  the  house. 
As  he  drew  nigh,  moving  along  in  the  deeper  shadow  of  the  fenc« 
to  the.  rear  of  the  dwelling,  for  which  he  had  a  key,  he  started. 
Was  it  a  footstep  that  reached  his  ear  ?  He  squatted  to  the  ground 
and  listened.  He  was  not  deceived.  The  indistinct  outline  of  a 
man  close  under  the  piazza,  was  apparent.  He  seemed  busied  i» 
some  labour  which  he  pursued  cautiously,  and  in  perfect  silence. 
Humphries  could  see  that  he  stooped  to  the  ground,  and  that  in  the 
next  moment,  his  arms  were  extended.  A  few  seconds  after  and 
the  person  of  the  man  seemed  to  rise  in  air.  The  watcher  could 
no  longer  be  mistaken.  Already  had  the  nightstalker  taken  two 
steps  upon  the  ladder  which  he  had  placed  against  the  house,  when 
Humphries  bounded  forward  from  his  place  of  watch.  His  soul 
was  on  fire,  for  he  saw  that  the  object  of  the  stranger  was  the  cham 
ber  of  his  sister,  the  windows  of  which  looked  out  upon  the  piazza, 
and  were  all  open,  as  was  usual  in  the  summer  nights. 

The  look  of  the  old  hag,  her  strange  words  uttered  as  a  threat, 
grew  strong  in  his  mind,  and  he  now  seemed  to  understand  them. 
Drawing  his  dirk  from  his  bosom,  the  only  weapon  he  had  ventured 
to  bring  with  him  from  the  stable,  in  the  fodder  of  which  he  had 
hidden  his  sabre  and  pistols,  he  rushed  furiously  towards  the  burglar 
But  his  movement  had  been  too  precipitate  for  success ;  and  witk 
the  first  sound  of  his  feet,  the  marauder  had  dropped  from  the  lad 
der,  and  taken  .to  his  heels.  The  start  in  his  favour  being  consider 
able,  gave  him  a  vast  advantage  over  his  pursuer,  for,  though  swift 
of  foot,  active,  and  spurred  on  by  the  fiercest  feelings,  Humphries 
failed  to  come  up  with  him.  A  moment  after  the  fugitive  had 
leaped  the  fence,  the  dirk  of  the  former  was  driven  into  lhat  par" 
of  it  over  which  his  body  had  passed.  The  villain4  had  escaped. 

Gloomy  and  disappointed,  the  brother  returned  to  the  spot,  and 
calmly  inspected  the  premises.  Painfully  and  dweply  appr«L*a»iv* 


216  THE    PARTISAN. 

were  his  thoughts,  as  he  surveyed  the  ladder,  and  the  open  windows 
above.  But  for  his  timely  arrival  there  would  have  beeu  little  01 
no  difficulty  in  effecting  an  entrance.  Did  the  wretch  seek  to  rob  ? 
That  was  the  hope  of  Humphries.  Could  it  be  possible  that  his 
sister  had  fallen  ?  was  she  a  victim,  privy  to  the  design  of  the  felon  ? 
or  did  he  only  now,  for  the  first  time,  seek  her  dishonour  ?  He 
knew  that  she  was  weak  and  childish,  but  he  also  believed  her  inno 
cent.  Could  she  have  looked  for  the  coming  of  a  paramour  ?  The 
unobstructed  windows,  the  unbroken  silence,  the  confident  proceed 
ing  of  the  man  himself — all  would  seem  to  strengthen  the  damning 
idea  which  now  possessed  his  mind ;  and  when  his  perpetually 
recurring  thought  brought  to  him  the  picture  of  the  old  hag,  her 
hellish  glare  upon  him,  and  her  mysterious  threat — a  threat  which 
now  seemed  no  longer  mysterious — the  dreadful  apprehensions 
almost  grew  into  certainty.  There  was  but  one,  and  that  a  partial 
mode,  of  ascertaining  how  far  the  girl  was  guilty  of  participation 
in  the  design  of  the  stranger ;  and,  with  the  thought,  Humphries 
at  once  ascended  the  ladder  which  he  threw  down  after  him.  From 
the  piazza  he  made  his  way  to  the  girl's  chamber. 

A  light  was  burning  in  the  fireplace,  dimly,  and  with  no  power 
to  serve  him  where  it  stood.  He  seized  it,  almost  convulsively,  in 
one  hand,  while  the  uplifted  dagger  was  bare  in  the  other  ;  and  thus 
be  approached  the  couch  where  she  lay.  He  held  the  light  above, 
to  that  its  glare  touched  not  her  eyes,  and  he  looked  down  into  her 
face.  She  lay  sleeping,  soundly,  sweetly,  with  a  gentle  respiration 
like  a  sigh  swelling  equably  her  bosom.  There  was  no  tremor,  no 
•tart.  Her  round,  fair  face  wore  a  soft,  smiling  expression,  showing 
that  the  consciousness  within  was  not  one  of  guilt.  One  of  her 
arms  hung  over  the  pillow,  her  cheek  resting  upon  it ;  the  other 
prosed  slightly  her  bosom,  as  naturally  as  if  there  had  been  a 
throbbing  and  deeply  feeling  heart  under  it.  The  brother  looked, 
and  as  he  looked,  he  grew  satisfied.  He  could  not  doubt  that 
sleep ;  it  was  the  sleep  of  innocence.  A  weight  of  nameless,  of 
measureless  terror,  had  been  taken  from  his  soul  in  that  survey ; 
and  nature  claimed  relief  in  a  flood  of  tears.  The  drops  fell  on  the 
cheek  of  the  sleeper,  and  she  started.  With  the  movement,  he  put 
the  dagger,  not,  however,  before  her  eyes  had  bekeld  iU 


THE   LANDLORD    AT    HIS    BECKONING  217 

u  Oh,  William  !  brother,  deal1  brother  !  is  it  you  ?  and — th« 
knife  ?" 

She  had  caught  his  hand  in  her  terror,  and  amaze  and  bewilder 
ment  overspread  her  features. 

"  Sleep  on,  Bell,  sleep  on ;  you  are' a  good  girl,  and  needn't  fear." 

He  kissed  her  as  he  spoke,  and,  with  the  fondness  of  a  sister,  and 
the  thoughtlessness  of  a  girl,  she  began  to  prattle  to  him  ;  but  he 
bade  her  be  quiet,  and,  taking  the  light  with  him,  descended  to  the 
lower  apartment,  adjoining  the  bar-room,  where  his  father  usually 
slept.  To  his  surprise  he  was  not  there,  but  a  gleam  through  the 
doOr  led  the  son  to  the  place  where  the  old  man  usually  served  Ilia 
customers.  The  picture  that  met  his  eye  was  an  amusing  one. 
There,  at  length  upon  the  floor,  the  landlord  lay.  A  candle  placed 
beside  him,  with  a  wick  doubled  over  and  blazing  into  the  tallow, 
lacked  the  friendly  aid  of  the  snuffers.  The  old  man  was  too 
deeply  engaged  in  his  vocation  to  notice  this.  His  head,  resting 
upon  one  hand,  was  lifted  upon  his  elbow,  and  before  him  were  sun 
dry  shingles,  covered  with  tallies  in  red  chalk  and  in  white,  against 
his  sundry  customers.  The  landlord  was  busily  engaged  in  drawing 
from  these  chronicles,  the  particular  items  in  the  account  of  Ser 
geant  Hastings,  which  he  transcribed  upon  a  sheet  of  paper  which 
lay  before  him.  A  tumbler  of  Jamaica,  of  especial  body,  stood  con 
veniently  close,  from  which  he  occasionally  drew  strong  refreshment 
for  his  memory.  He  was  too  earnest  in  his  labour,  to  notice  tha 
entrance  of  his  son  at  first ;  but  the  other  had  too  little  time  to 
spare,  to  scruple  much  at  disturbing  his  father  at  his  unusual 
labour. 

"  Ah,  bless  me,  Bill — that  you  ?  Why,  what's  the  to-do  now  ? 
What  brings  you  so  late  ?" 

"  Business,  business,  father,  and  plenty  of  it.  But  get  up,  rouse 
you  and  bustle  about,  and  get  away  from  these  scores,  or  you  won't 
understand  a  word  T  tell  you." 

The  land! 01 1  rose  immediately,  put  his  shingles  aside,  picked  up 
the  sheet  containing  the  amount  in  gross  charged  against  Sergeant 
Hastings,  which  he  sighed  deeply  to  survey,  and,  in  a  few  momenta, 
was  prepared  to  listen  to  what  his  son  could  say.  He  heard  the 
narrative  with  horror  and  astonishment. 


218  tHK    PARTISAN. 

"  God  bless  us  and  preserve  us,  Bill  !  but  this  is  awful  hard  ;  and 
what  are  we  to  do — where  shall  we  run — how  ? — " 

"  Run  nowhere,  but  listen  to  what  I  tell  you.  You  can't  help  it 
now,  but  you  may  make  something  out  of  it.  If  Proctor  must 
hear  the  truth,  he  may  as  well  hear  it  from  you." 

'•  From  me  ! — bless  me,  Bill,  my  boy— from  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  from  you.  Set  off  by  daypeep  to  the  fort,  and  see  Proc 
tor  yourself.  Tell  him  of  your  loyalty,  and  how  you  lore  the  king ; 
and  you  can  cry  a  little  all  the  time,  if  it  comes  easy  to  you.  I 
don't  want  you  to  strain  much  about  it.  Tell  him  that  you  have  *u 
unworthy  son,  that's  not  of  your  way  of  thinking.  Say  he's  beeo 
misguided  by  the  rebels,  and  how  they've  inveigled  him,  till  he's 
turned  rebel  himself;  and  how  he's  now  out  with  Marion's  men,  in 
Major  Singleton's  squad.  When  you've  done  this,  you  can  cry 
again,  and  do  any  thing  to  throw  dust  in  his  eyes.  Say  it's  all 
owing  to  your  loyalty  that  you  expose  your  own  flesh  and  blood, 
and  mind  you  don't  take  any  money  for  telling." 

"  Bless  me,  my  dear  boy,  but  this  is  awful  to  think  on." 

"  It  must  be  thought  on,  though,  and  the  sooner  the  better. 
Coming  from  you,  it  will  help  you  ;  coming  from  that  skunk,  Gog 
gle,  and  you  silent,  and  they  pack  you  off  to  the  Charleston  pro 
vost,  or  maybe  draw  you  over  the  swinging  bough.  Tell  Proctor 
our  force  is  thirty  ;  that  we  lay  at  Slick  pond  last  night,  and  that 
we  push  for  Black  river  by  daypeep,  to  join  with  the  Swamp  Fox. 
This,  you  see,  will  be  a  truer  story  than  Goggle  can  tell,  for  if  ht 
sends  Proctor  after  us  to  Slick  pond,  he'll  have  a  journey  to  uk« 
back." 

"  Bless  me,  what's  to  become  of  us  all,  Bill,  I  don't  see.  I  am  all 
jver  in  a  fever  now,  ever  since  you  tell'd  me  your  story." 

•'  Shake  it  off,  and  be  comfortable,  as  you  can  be.  Thinking1 
about  it  never  cured  the  .shaking  ague  yet,  and  never  will.  You 
must  try." 

"And  I  will  try — T  will,  boy  ;  but  bless  me,  Bill,  wouldn't  it  be 
better  for  us  all  to  take  to  the  swamp — eh  ?" 

"  No — stay  where  you  are  ;  there's  no  need  for  you  to  go  out, 
and  you  can  do  good  where  you  are.  s  Besides,  there's  B«ll,  vow 
kcow." 


LEAD    OUT    TRUAirS.  219 

"  True,  true." 

"Lead  out  trumps,  that's  the  way,  and  mind  ho\v  you  play  'em  ; 
ihat's  all  you've  got  to  do  now,  arid  if  so  be  you  try,  you  can  do 
it.  Don't  burn  daylight,  but  be  with  Proctor  as  soon  as  sunrise 
lets  you.  Don't  stop  to  talk  about  Edisto  catfish,  or  what's  for 
dinner,  and  whether  it's  like  to  rain  or  shine,  but  push  through  the 
crowd,  and  don't  mind  your  skills.  All  depends  on  you,  now." 

"  Bless  us,  bless  us  !  what  times,  what  times  !  Oh,  Bill,  my  boy, 
what's  coming  to  us  !  Here  was  iluck,  to-day,  and  says  Continen 
tal  Congress  is  to  make  peace  with  Great  Britain,  and  to  give  up 
Carolina  and  Georgia." 

"  Oh  !  that's  all  a  fool  notion,  for  it's  no  such  thing.  That's  all 
a  trick  of  the  tories,  and  you  needn't  mind  it.  But  what  of 
Huck  ?" 

"  He  goes  a-Monday  to  join  Tarleton." 

"  Good ! — and  now  1  must  leave  you.  I've  got  a  mighty  deal 
to  see  to  afore  daylight,  and  L  won't  see  you  for  a  smart  spell,  J 
reckon,  as  I  shall  have  to  hug  the  swamp  close  after  this.  Don't  be 
slow  now,  father,  'cause  every  thing  hangs  on  your  shoulders,  and 
you  must  tell  your  story  straight." 

In  their  dialogue  the  son  had  taken  care  to  omit  nothing  which 
a  shrewd,  thinking  mind  might  suggest,  as  essential  to  the  success 
ful  prosecution  of  the  plan  advised.  This  done,  he  took  his  way  to 
the  dwelling  of  old  Pryor,  arid  tapping  with  his  knife-handle  thrice 
upon  one  of  the  small,  but  ostentatious,  pine  pillars  of  the  portico, 
the  door  was  unclosed,  and  he  was  at  once  admitted,  as  one  who 
had  been  waited  for.  There  we  shall  leave  him,  conferring  closely 
with  a  select  few,  busy,  like  himself,  in  preparations  for  a  genera, 
uprising  of  the  people. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

She  ii  loit  !— 

She  it  saved  !— GOETHE. 

HUMPHRIES,  poor  old  man,  placed  himself  at  an  eastern  window, 
the  moment  his  son  had  departed,  to  watch  for  the  first  glances  of 
the  daylight.  What  a  task  had  he  to  perform  !  what  a  disclosure 
to  make  !  and  how  should  he  evade  the  doubt — though  complying 
with  the  suggestion  of  reason  and  his  son  alike — that  he  should,  by 
the  development  he  was  about  to  make,  compromise  the  safety  of 
the  latter.  Should  he  be  taken,  the  evidence  of  the  father  would  bo 
adequate  to  his  conviction,  and  that  evidence  he  was  now  about  to 
offer  to  the  enemy.  lie  was  to  denounce  him  as  a  rebel,  an  out 
law,  whom  the  leader  of  a  single  troop  might  hang  without  a  trial, 
the  moment  he  was  arrested.  The  old  man  grew  miserable  with 
his  reflections,  and  there  was  but  one  source  of  consolation.  For 
tunately,  the  supply  of  old  Jamaica  in  the  "  Royal  George"  was  still 
good  ;  and  a  tumbler  of  the  precious  beverage,  fitly  seasoned  with 
warm  spices  and  sugar,  was  not  ineffectually  employed  to  serve  the 
desired  purpose. 

And  with  this  only  companion,  whose  presence  momently  grew 
less,  the  worthy  landlord  watched  for  the  daylight  from  his  win 
dow  ;  and  soon  the  grey  mist  rose  up  like  a  thin  veil  over  the  tope 
of  the  tall  trees,  and  the.  pale  stars  sped,  retreating  away  from  the 
more  powerful  array  which  was  at  hand.  The  hum  of  the  night 
insects  was  over — the  hoarse  chant  of  the  frog  family  was  silent,  as 
their  unerring  senses  taught  them  the  coming  of  that  glorious  and 
beautiful  presence  which  they  did  not  love.  Fold  upon  fold,  like  so 
many  variously  shaded  wreaths,  the  dim  curtain  of  the  night  was 
drawn  gradually  up  into  heaven,  and  once  more  the  vast  panorama 
of  forest,  river,  and  gr«-rn  valley  came  out  upon  the  sight,  rising,  by 
little  and  little,  into  life,  in  the  slowly  illumined  distance. 


PROCTOR'S  QUARTERS.         221 

The  moment  old  Humphries  saw  the  approa^a  of  daylight,  ha 
finished  his  tumbler  of  punch,  and,  with  a  sad  heart,  he  set  out  for 
Proctor's  quarters.  Some  little  delay  preceded  his  introduction  to 
the  commandant  of  the  garrison,  who  received  him  graciously,  and 
civilly  desired  to  know  his  business.  This  was  soon  unfolded,  and 
with  many  pauses,  broken  exclamations  of  grief  and  loyalty,  the 
landlord  gave  a  brief  account,  as  furnished  him  by  his  son,  of  all  the 
events  which  had  occurred  to  Singleton  and  his  squad  since  his  as 
sumption  of  its  command.  The  affair  of  the  tories  and  his  troop  in 
the  swamp — the  capture  of  the  baggage  and  arms — the  delay  of 
which,  a  matter  of  surprise  to  Huck,  was  now  accounted  for — and 
the  subsequent  bivouac  upon  the  Ashley,  were  quickly  unfolded  to 
the  wondering  Briton.  He  immediately  despatched  a  messenger 
for  Huck,  while  proceeding  to  the  cross-examination  of  his  inform 
ant — a  scrutiny  which  he  conducted  with  respect  and  a  proper  con 
sideration. 

All  was  coherent  in  his  story,  and  Proctor  was  inly  troubled.  A 
piece  of  daring,  such  a&  the  formation  of  Singleton's  squad,  so  near 
the  garrison,  so  immediately  in  the  neighbourhood  and  limits  of  the 
most  esteemed  loyalty,  was  well  calculated  to  annoy  him.  The  name 
of  Major  Singleton,  too,  grated  harshly  on  bis  ears.  .  He  could  not 
but  remember  the  meaning  reference  of  Katharine  Walton  to  her 
cousin  of  the  same  name ;  and  he  at  once  identified  him  with  his  rival 
in  that  young  lady's  regard.  Huck  came  in  while  yet  he  deliberated ; 
and  to  him  the  narrative  which  Humphries  delivered,  who  stood  by 
all  the  while,  was  also  told.  The  tory  was  not  less  astounded  than 
Proctor  ;  and  the  two  conferred  freely  on  their  news  before  Hum 
phries,  whose  loyalty  was  properly  confirmed  in  their  opinion,  by 
his  unscrupulous  denunciation  of  his  own  son.  To  Thick,  the  com 
mandant  of  the  garrison  was  compelled  to  apply,  and  the  troop  of 
the  former  was  required  to  disperse  the  force  of  Singleton.  The 
garrison  guard  was  too  small,  under  the  doubtful  condition  of  loyalty 
in  the  neighbourhood,  to  spare  a  detachment;  and  it  was  arranged, 
therefore,  that  Huck  should  depart  from  his  original  plan  and  route, 
which  was  to  start  on  the  ensuing  day  for  Camden,  and  immediately 
to  make  a  circuit  through  the  country  by  .the  Ashley,  and  having 
douo  so,  go  furwu.d  by  Parker's  Ferry,  and  gain,  by  a  circuitous 
10 


222  THE     PARTISAN. 

sweep,  trie  course  which  liad  been  formerly  projected,  and  which, 
indeed,  the  orders  received  by  him  from  Corn  wall  is,  compelled  him 
to  pursue.  It  was  hoped  that  ho.  wouid  overhaul  the  little  force  of 
Singleton,  in  which  event  it  must  have  been  annihilated. 

In  the  mean  time,  Proctor  prepared  his  despatches  for  Charleston, 
calling  for  a  supply  of  troops — a  call  not  likely  to  be  responded  to  from 
that  quarter,  as  the  garrison  there  had  been  already  drawn  upon  by  the 
interior,  to  such  an  extent  as  to  leave  barely  a  sufficient  force  within 
the  walls  of  the  city  for  its  own  maintenance.  This  Proctor  knew, 
but  no  other  hope  presented  itself,  and  glad  to  use  the  troop  of 
lluck,  he  contented  himself  with  the  consciousness  of  having  done 
all  that  could  be  done  by  him,  under  existing  circumstances.  Civil 
ly  dismissing  Humphries,  he  would  have  rewarded  him,  but  the 
old  man  urged  his  simple  and  sincere  loyalty,  and  naturally  shrank 
back  at  the  idea  of  receiving  gold  as  the  reward  of  his  son's  be 
trayal.  He  did  his  part  shrewdly,  and  leaving  the  two  conferring 
upon  the  particulars  of  the  tory's  route,  hurried  away  to  the  tavern 
in  no  enviable  state  of  feeling. 

His  son,  whom  we  have  seen  entering  the  dwelling  of  old  Pryor, 
was  glad  to  meet  with  several  sturdy  whigs  in  close  conference. 
They  had  been' stimulated  by  the  whispers  of  an  approaching  army 
of  continentals,  and  the  vague  intelligence  had  been  exaggerated  in 
due  proportion  to  the  thick  obscurity  which  at  that  time  hung 
about  the  subject.  The  host  himself — who  was  a  sturdy  patriot, 
and  more  than  usually  bold,  as,  of  late  days,  he  was  more  than 
usually  unfortunate — presided  upon  this  occasion.  The  party  was 
small,  consisting  of  some  half  dozen  persons,  all  impatient  of  the 
hourly  wrongs,  which,  in  their  reckless  indifference  to  the  feeling* 
of  the  conquered,  the  invaders  continually  committed.  The  reduc 
tion  of  the  British  force  in  the  lower  comity,  in  the  large  draughts 
made  upon  it  for  the  upper  posts,  had  emboldened  disaffection;  and 
the  people,  like  snakes  long  huddled  up  in  holes  during  the  sever* 
weather,  now  came  out  with  the  first  glimpses  of  the  sunshine. 

The  arrival  of  Humphries  with  the  intelligence  which  he  brought, 
gave  them  new  spirits.  The  successes  of  Marion  at  Britton's  Neck, 
and  Singleton  in  the  sWamp,  of  which  they  had  not  heard  before, 
though  small,  were  yet  held  an  earnnst  of  what  might  be  antici- 


LIE   LOW—  KEEP   DARK.  223 

pated,  and  what  was  hoped  for.  The  additional  news  (hat  the  ap 
proaching  continentals  were  to  be  commanded  by  Gates,  whose 
renown  was  in  the  ascendant — so  far  in  the  ascendant,  indeed,  that 
the  star  of  Washington  almost  sank  before  it — went  far  to  give 
hope  a  positive  body  and  a  form.  Doubt  succeeded  to  bold  pre 
diction,  and  the  conspirators  were  now  prepared — those  reluctant 
before — to  begin  properly  the  organization  of  their  section,  as  had 
keen  the  advice  of  Marion. 

Still,  they  were  not  altogether  ready  for  the  field.  Property  was 
to  be  secured,  families  carried  beyond  reach  of  that  retribution 
which  the  enemy  usually  inflicted  upon  the  feeble  in  return  for  the 
audacity  and  defiance  of  the  strong ;  arms  were  to  be  procured,  and, 
until  the  time  of  Sir  Henry  Clinton's  indulgence — the  twenty  days 
— had  expired,  they  determined  to  forbear  all  open  demonstration. 
To  these,  Humphries  had  already  designated  their  leader,  in  the 
person  of  Colonel  Walton,  whom  they  all  knew  and  esteemed.  His 
coming  out  they  were  satisfied  would,  of  itself,  bring  an  active  and 
goodly  troop  into  the  field.  Popular  as  he  was,  both  in  St.  Paul's 
and  J3t.  George's,  it  was  confidently  believed  that  he  would  bring 
both  the  parishes  out  handsomely,  and  his  skill  as  a  leader  had 
been  already  tried  and  was  highly  estimated.  The  spirits  of  the 
little  knot  of  conspirators  grew  with  every  enumeration  of  their 
prospects  and  resources,  and  they  looked  up,  as  daylight  approached, 
full  of  hope  and  mutual  assurances.  Two  of  the  party  agreed  to 
come  out  to  Humphries,  in  the  contiguous  wood,  by  the  first  ring 
ing  of  the  bell  for  sabbath  service — for  the  day  was  Sunday — and 
there,  at  a  given  spot,  the  lieutenant  was  to  await  them. 

Before  the  daylight  he  took  his  departure,  and  leading  his  horse 
into  the  close  swamp  thicket  on  the  river,  where  his  first  conference 
with  Siugleton  had  taken  place,  he  fastened  him  carefully,  took  his 
seat  at  the  foot  of  a  tree  which  overhung  the  river,  and  there 
mused,  half  dozing,  for  the  brief  hour  that  came  between  the  time 
and  the  dawning.  But  soon  the  light  came  winding  brightly  and 
more  brightly  around  him  ;  the  mists  curled  up  from  the  river,  and 
the  breeze  rising  up  from  the  ocean,  with  the  dawn,  refreshed  and 
animated  him.  He  sat  watching  the  mysterious  separation  of  those 
twin  agente  of  nature,  night  and  day,  as  the  one  rolled  away  in  fog 


224.  THE   PARTISAN. 

along  the  river,  and  the  other  burst  forth,  in  gleams  from  the  sky 
and  bloom  upon  the  earth. 

But  these  sights  were  not  such  as  greatly  to  amuse  our  lieutenant, 
and  the  time  passed  heavily  enough,  until  about  eight  o'clock,  when, 
from  the  river's  edge,  he  distinguished,  crossing  the  bridge  at  Dor 
chester,  the  time-worn,  bent,  figure  of  old  dame  Blouay.  She  was 
on  her  way  to  the  garrison  for  the  revelation  of  that  intelligence  which 
his  father  had  by  this  time  already  unfolded.  The  lieutenan1  now 
understood  a  part  of  the  design,  and  readily  conceived  that  such  was 
the  purport  of  her  visit  to  the  village.  Yet  why  had  not  her  son  un 
dertaken  the  task  himself?  Why  depute  to  an  infirm  old  woman 
the  performance  of  an  object  so  important  ?  The  question  puzzled 
him  ;  and  it  was  only  a  dim  conjecture  of  the  truth,  which  led  him 
to  believe  that  Goggle  had  made  his  way  back  to  carnp  with  tho 
view  to  some  farther  treachery. 

As  the  hag  grew  more  distinct  to  his  eye,  in  the  increasing  light, 
her  sharp  features — the  subtle  cast  of  her  eye — the  infirm  crazy 
motion — bent  shoulders,  and  witch-like  staff'  which  she  carried, 
brought  many  unpleasant  fancies  to  the  mind  of  the  observer  ;  and 
the  singular,  and,  to  him,  the  superstitious  fear  which  he  had  felt 
while  gazing  upon  her,  through  the  crevices  of  her  hut  the  night 
before,  came  back  to  him  with  increased  influence.  He  thought  of 
the  thousand  strange  stories  of  the  neighbourhood,  about  the  witch 
craft  practised  by  her  and  others.  Indian  doctors  were  then,  all 
over  the  country,  renowned  for  their  cures,  all  of  which  were  effected 
by  trick  and  mummery,  mixed  up  with  a  due  proportion  of  fores 
medicines — wild  roots  and  plants,  the  properties  of  which,  known 
through  long  ages  to  the  aborigines,  were  foreign  to  the  knowledge, 
and  therefore  marvellous  in  the  estimation  of  the  whites.  To  tliei> 
arts,  the  Gullah  and  the  Bbo  negroes,  of  which  the  colony  had  its 
thousands  furnished  by  the  then  unscrupulous  morality  of  the  mo 
ther  country  and  the  northern  colonies,  added  their  spells  And  magif, 
in  no  stinted  quantities,  and  of  the  foulest  and  filthiest  attributes. 
The  conjuration  of  these  two  classes  became  united  in  the  practice 
of  the  cunning  white,  of  an  order  little  above  them,  and  mother 
Blonay  formed  the  representative  of  a  sect  in  the  lower  country  of 
South  Carolina,  by  no  means  small  in  number  or  trifling  in  lotto 


WITHCRAFT  OF  THE  SOUTH.  225 

euce,  and  which,  to  this  day,  not  utterly  extinguished,  remains  here 
and  there  in  the  more  ignorant  sections,  still  having  power  over  the 
subject  minds  of  the  weak  and  superstitious. 

As  we  have  said,  Humphries  was  not  one,  if  the  question  were 
to  be  asked  him,  to  say  that  he  believed  in  the  powers  thus  claimed 
for  the  old  woman  before  us.  Hut  the  bias  of  years,  of  early  educa 
tion  and  associates,  was  insurmountable;  and  he  felt  the  influence 
which  his  more  deliberate  reflection  was,  nevertheless,  at  all  times 
disposed  to  deny.  He  felt  it  now  as  she  came  towards  him  ;  and 
when,  passing  along,  he  saw  her  move  towards  the  dwelling  of  his 
father,  he  remembered  her  mysterious  speech  associated  with  the 
name  of  bis  sister,  and  his  blood  grew  cold  in  his  veins,  though,  an 
instant  after,  it  again  boiled  with  a  fury  naturally  enough  arising 
from  the  equivocal  regard  in  which  that  speech  had  seemed  to  place 
the  girl.  As  the  wretch  passed  along  the  copse  to  the  edge  of  which 
his  feet  had  almost  followed  her,  he  placed  himself  in  a  position  to 
observe  the  direction  which  she  would  pursue  in  entering  the  vil 
lage,  and  was  satisfied  of  her  object  when  he  saw  her  bending  hei 
way  to  the  fortress. 

We  need  scarcely  add  that  the  old  woman  told  her  story  to  Proc 
tor,  and  was  listened  to  coldly.  She  had  brought  him  no  intelli 
gence,  and,  indeed,  he  knew  rather  more  than  herself.  But  one 
point  of  difference  existed  between  the  account  given  by  old  Hum 
phries  and  the  woman.  The  one  stated  that  Singleton's  band  had 
withdrawn  from  the  Ashley,  and  had  pushed  for  Black  river — tiie 
other  affirmed  it  to  be  there  still. 

The  difference  was  at  once  made  known  to  Huck,  a  portion  of 
whose  troopers  were  even  then  getting  into  saddle.  The  residue 
were  soon  to  follow,  and  the  whole  were  expected  to  rendezvous  that 
night  at  Parker's  ferry.  Mother  Blonay  was  mortified  that  she 
brought  no  news  to  the  garrison  ;  but,  as  her  story  confirmed  that  of 
Humphries,  Proctor  gave  her  a  reward,  small,  however,  in  comparison 
with  what  had  been  expected.  She  left  the  garrison  in  bad  humour, 
and  was  soon  joined  on  her  way  by  Sergeant  Hastings,  whose  orders 
required  him  to  march  with  the  detachment  which  was  to  follow 
Huck  that  afternoon.  His  chagrin,  on  this  account,  was  not  less 
than  hers.  A  bitter  oath  accompanied  the  information  which  he 


226  THE    PARTISAN. 

gave  her  of  the  orders  he  had  just  received.     The  two  then  spok* 
of  another  matter. 

"Far  off  as  ever,  mother,  and  without  your  help  there's  nothing 
to  be  done  now.  Last  night  I  was  in  a  fair  way  enough,  but  up 
comes  that  chap  her  brother — it  could  be  nobody  else— and  I  had 
to  cut  for  it.  I  went  over  the  fence  tlfen  a  thought  quicker  than  I 
should  be  able  to  do  it  now." 

"It  was  not  Bill  Humphries  you  saw,  for  he  was  at  my  cabin 
long  time  after  hours  last  night;  and  then  he'd  not  venture  into 
this  quarter  now.  No — no.  'Twas  the  old  man,  I  reckon." 

"Maybe,  though  he  seemed  to  run  too  fast  for  the  old  fellow. 
But  no  matter  who  'twas.  The  thing  failed,  and  you  must  chalk 
•at  another  track." 

"  I  will :  dont  fear,  for  I've  said  it ;  and  come  fire,  come  storm, 
it  must  be  done.  Goggle — Goggle — Goggle  !  He  must  pay  for  that, 
and  he  shall ;  she  shall — they  shall  all  pay  for  that,  and  old  scores 
besides.  It's  a  long-standing  account,  sergeant,  and  you  can  help 
MO  to  make  it  up  and  pay  it  off;  and  that's  the  reason  I  help  you 
to  this.  I  shall  go  about  it  now,  and — "  After  a  pause,  in  which 
she  seamed  to  meditate  a  while — "Yes;  meet  me  in  the  swamp 
thicket  above  the  bridge,  just  after  you  pass  the  Oak  Grove." 

"  When  ?" 

"  This  morning — soon  as  the  bells  strike  up  for  church,  and  be 
fore  the  people  begin  to  come  in  freely.  Don't  be  backward,  now, 
but  eome  certain,  and  don't  wait  for  the  last  chimes." 

The  worthy  pair  separated,  and  the  glimpses  of  a  previous  con 
nexion,  which  their  dialogue  gives  us,  serve  a  little  to  explain  some 
portions  of  our  own  narrative. 

While  this  matter  had  been  in  progress,  two  sturdy  troopers 
joined  Humphries  in  the  swamp.  Their  horses  were  carefully  i. id- 
den,  and  they  determined  to  await  the  time  when  the  roads  should 
be  free  from  the  crowd  on  their  way  to  church,  before  (hoy  vcn 
tured  abroa'd.  They  amused  themselves  as  well  as  they  might, 
keeping  close  in  cover  themselves,  by  watching  the  people  as  they 
crossed  th<  bridge,  hurried  along  the  highway  leading  to  the  vil 
lage,  or  lounged  on  the  open  ground  in  front  of  the  church  ;  for  all 
of  these  points  might  easily  be  commanded  from  different  places 


THE    WTi'GlI    AND    TUK    Vlf.LAGK    BEAUTY.  22? 

along  the  thicket.  There  came  the  farmer  on  his  plough-horse,  in 
his  coarse  striped  breeches,  blue  homespun  coatee,  and  broad- 
brimmed  hat;  there,  the  whirling  carriage,  borne  along  by  four 
showy  bays,  of  the  wealthy  planter;  there  the  trudging  country 
girl  in  her  huge  sunbonnet  and  short- waisted  cotton  frock;  and 
there,  in  little  groups  of  two  or  three,  the  negroes,  male  and  female, 
\\ith  their  own  small  stock  of  eggs,  chickens,  blackberries,  and  sas 
safras,  ploughing  their  way  through  the  heavy  sands  to  occupy 
their  places  in  the  village  market. 

While  Humphries  looked,  he  saw,  to  his  great  vexation,  the 
figure  of  Dame  Blonay  approaching,  accompanied  by  his  sister. 
All  his  suspicions  were  reawakened  by  the  sight.  The  girl  was 
dressed  as  for  church.  Her  dress  was  simple,  suited  to  her  con 
dition,  and  well  adapted  to  her  shape,  which  was  a  good  one.  lier 
bonnet  was  rather  fine  and  flaunting,  and  there  was  something  of 
gaudiuess  in  the  pink  and  yellow  distributed  over  her  person  in  (he 
guise  of  knots  and  ribands.  But  still  the  eye  was  not  offended,  foi 
the  habit  did  not  show  unfavourably  along  with  the  pretty  face, 
and  light,  laughing,  good-natured  eye  that  animated  it.  What  a 
contrast  to  the  old  hag  beside  her  !  The  one,  capricious  enough, 
was  yet  artless  and  simple — the  other  old,  stern,  ugly,  poor,  was 
even  then  devising  plans  for  the  ruin  of  the  child. 

"  Come,  my  daughter,  come  farther — I  would  not  others  should 
hear  what  I  say  to  you;  and  I  know  it  will  please  you  to  know. 
Tim  wood  is  cool  and  shady,  and  we  can  talk  there  at  our  ease." 

"  But,  mother,  wasn't  it  a  strange  dream  now — a  very  strange 
•  iivam,  to  think  that  I  should  be  a  great  lady,  and  ride  in  my  coach 
like  the  ladies  at  '  Middleton  Place,'  and  'The  Oaks,'  and  'Single 
tons,'  and  all  the  rich  people  about  here? — and  it  all  seemed  so 
I  me,  mother— so  very  true,  I  didn't  know  where  t  was  when  I 
woke  up  this  morning." 

There  was  a  devilish  leer  in  the  old  hag's  eye,  as  she  looked  intc 
that  of  the  vain-hearted  but  innocent  girl  beside  her,  and  answered 
her  in  a  speech  well  calculated  to  increase  the  idle  folly  already  so 
active  in  her  mind.  Humphries  heard  nothing  of  the  dialogue — 
he  wa.s  quite  too  far  off;  but  he  felt  so  deeply  anxious  on  the  sub 
ject  of  the  old  woman's  connexion  with  his  sister,  that  he  had 


228  THE    PARTISAN. 

actually  given  some  directions  to  the  two  troopers  along  with  him, 
and  was  about  to  emerge  from  his  cover,  and  separate  them  at  all 
hazards,  when  the  bells  from  the  village  steeple  struck  up,  ami 
warned  him  of  the  extreme  risk  which  he  must  run  from  such  au 
exposure  of  his  person.  The  same  signal  had  the  effect  of  bringing 
Bella  and  Mother  Blonay  more  closely  to  the  copse,  to  which 
the  old  woman,  now,  by  various  suggestions,  contrived  to  persuado 
her  companion.  While  they  approached  the  thicket,  Humphries 
changed  his  course  and  position,  so  as  to  find  a  contiguous  spot,  for 
the  concealment  of  his  person,  the  moment  they  should  stop,  which 
would  enable  him  to  gather  up  their  dialogue  ;  and  it  was  not  long 
before  they  paused,  at  the  old  woman's  bidding,  in  a  well  shaded 
place,  completely  unseen  from  the  road  and  quite  out  of  hearing 
from  the  village.  Here  the  conversation  between  them  was  resumed 
— Mother  Blonay  leading  off  in  rep'y  to  something  said  by  Bella, 
the  purport  of  which  may  be  guessed  from  the  response  made  to  it. 

"  A  bad  dream,  do  you  say,  my  daughter  ?  I  say  it  is  y  good 
dream,  and  you're  a  lucky  girl,  if  you  don't  stand  in  the  way  of 
your  own  fine  fortune.  There's  good  coming  to  you  :  that  dream's 
always  a  sign  of  good  ;  it  never  fails.  So  mind  you  don't  spoil  all 
by  some  foolish  notion." 

"Why,  how  shall  I  do,  mother?  what  shall  I  say  ?  Dear  oie ! 
1  wouldn't  do  any  thing  to  spoil  it  for  the  world !" 

And  the  two  seated  themselves  upon  the  green  turf  in  the  thicket, 
the  right  hand  of  the  girl  upon  the  knee  of  the  hag,  while  her 
eyes  looked  up  apprehensively  and  inquiringly  into  the  face  of  the 
latter.  She  gave  her  some  counsel,  accordingly,  in  answer  to  her 
questions,  of  a  vague,  indefinite  character,  very  mysteriously  de.li 
vered,  and  the  only  part  of  which,  understood  by  Bella,  was  a 
general  recommendation  to  her,  quietly  to  receive,  and  not  to  resist 
her  good  fortune. 

"  But,  mother,  I  thought  you  said  you  would  show  him  to  me — 
him,  my  true-and-true  husband,  that  is  to  be.  Now  I  wonder  who 
it  can  be.  It  can't  be  John  Davis,  for  he's  gone  away  from  tha 
village,  and  they  say  he's  out  in  the  swamp,  mother — can  you  tell  *" 

"No,  Bella;  and  it's  no  use:  he's  nothing  at  all  to  you.  Vou 
are  uot  for  such  a  poor  scrub  as  Johu 


WHAT   IS   HE   LIKE?  229 

"  You  think  so,  mother  1  Well,  I'm  sorry  ;  for  I  do  behave  John 
had  a  true-and-true  love  for  me  in  his  heart,  and  he  often  said  so. 
I  wonder  where  he  is." 

"  John  Davis,  indeed,  my  child !  how  can  you  speak  of  such  a 
fellow  ?  Why,  what  has  he  to  show  for  you  ?  A  poor  shoat  that 
hasn't  house,  nor  home,  nor  any  thing  to  make  a  wife  comfortable, 
or  even  feed  her  when  he  gets  her.  No,  no,  girl,  the  husband 
that's  for  you  is  a  different  sort  of  person — a  very  different  sort  of 
person,  indeed." 

"  Oh,  do,  mother !  can't  you  tell  me  something  about  him,  now  ? 
— only  a  little  ;  1  do  so  want  to  know.  Is  he  tall,  now,  or  short  f 
I  hope  he's  tall — eh  ? — middle  size,  and  wears — oh,  speak,  mother ! 
and  don't  shake  your  head  so — tell  me  at  once  !" 

And  the  girl  pressed  forward  upon  the  old  woman,  and  her  eye 
earnestly  watched  the  features  of  her  countenance,  heedless  of  the 
ogre  grin  which  rested  upon  her  lips,  and  the  generally  fiendish 
expression  of  her  skinny  face.  The  old  woman  did  not  immediately 
answer,  for  her  thoughts  seemed  to  wander,  and  her  eye  looked 
about  her,  as  if  in  search  of  some  expected  object. 

"  What  do  you  look  for,  mother  ? — you  don't  mind  what  I  say, 
do  you  ?" 

"  I  was  looking  and  thinking,  my  daughter,  how  to  answer  you 
best.  How  would  you  like,  now,  instead  of  hearing  about  youi 
husband  that  is  to  be,  to  see  him  !" 

"  What !  can  you  make  him  come,  mother,  like  a  picture,  with 
a  big  frame  round  him  ?  and  shall  I  see  him  close — see  him  close  ? 

D 

But  I  mustn't  touch  him,  I  suppose ;  for  then  he'd  vanish,  they 

eay." 

"  Yes, — how  would  you  like  to  see  him,  now,  Bella !" 

"  Oh,  deai-  me,  I  should  be  frightened  !     You'd  better  tell  me 

who  he  is,  and  don't  bring  him ;  though,  indeed,  mother,  I  can't 

think  there  would  be  danger." 

"  None — none  at  all,"  said  the  old  woman  in  reply,  who  seemed 

disposed  to  prolong  the  dialogue. 

"  Well,  if  he  only  looked  like  John  Davis,  now  !" 

"  John  Davis,  indeed,  Bella  !     I  tell  you,  you  must  not  think  of 

Jbhn  Davis      You  are  for  a  fat   better  man.     What  do  you  «iy, 
10* 


THE    PARTISAN, 

now.  of  the  sergvant,  Sergeant   Hastings  '?  suppose  it  happened  to 
be  him,  now  ?" 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  of  Sergeant  Hastings  mother ;  for  1  was  a 
foul  to  mind  him.  He  don't  care  tital  Co.  me,  I  know  :  and  he 
talks  cross  to  me  ;  and  if  1  don't  run  myself  out  of  breath  to  servo 
him,  he  says  ugly  things.  Besides,  he's  been  talking  strange  things 
to  me,  and  I  don't  like  it.  More  than  once  I've  been  going  to  tell 
brother  William  something  that  he  once  said  to  me  :  and  I  know, 
if  I  had, there  would  have  been  a  brush  between  them;  for  William* 
won't  stand  any  thing  that's  impudent.  Don't  talk  of  him  to  me." 

"  But  I  must,  my  daughter,  for  it  cannot  be  helped.  If  I  see 
that  he's  born  to  be  your  husband,  and  you  his  wife,  it  must  be  so, 
and  I  must  say  it." 

"No — no — it's  not  so,  mother,  I  know.  It  shan't  be  so,"  said 
the  girl,  firmly  enough.  "1  won't  believe  it,  neither,  and  you're 
only  plaguing  me." 

"  It's  a  truth,  Bella,  and  neither  you  nor  I  can  help  it,  or  keep  it 
off.  I  tell  you,  child,  that  you  were  born  for  Sergeant  Hastings." 

"  But  I  won't  be  born  for  him,  neither.  I  can't,  and  I  won't,  for 
you  don't  know  what  he  said  to  me,  and  it's  not  good  for  me  to  tell 
it  again,  for  it  was  naughty  ;  and  I'm  sorry  I  ever  talked  cross  to 
poor  John  Davis,  and  I  did  so  all  because  of  him." 

The  change  in  her  regards  from  Hastings  to  her  old  lover,  was  a 
source  of  no  small  astonishment  to  the  old  hag,  who  knew  not  how 
to  account  for  it.  It  gave  less  satisfaction  to  her  than  to  Hum 
phries,  who,  in  the  neighbouring  bush,  heard  every  syllable  which 
had  been  uttered.  The  secret  of  this  change  is  easily  given.  A* 
simple  as  a  child,  the  mere  deference  to  her  claims  of  beauty,  had 
U-ft  her  easily  susceptible  of  imposition  ;  and  without  any  feeling 
.'(finally  enlisted  in  favour  of  Hastings,  she  had  been  on  the  verge 
of  that  precipice — the  gulf  which  passion  or  folly  so  often  prepares 
for  its  unheeding  votaries.  "  His  professions  and  flatteries  had  gradu 
ally  rilled  her  mind,  and  when  his  continued  attentions  had  driven 
all  those  away,  from  whom  she  had,  or  might  have  received  them, 
it  followed  that  she  became  a  dependant  entirely  upon  him,  who, 
in  creating  this  state  of  subservience,  had  placed  her,  to  a  certain 
degree  at  least,  at  his  mercy.  She  felt  this  dependence  now,  aud  il 


HASTINGS   ANSWERS    FOR    HIMSELF.  231 

tomewhat  mortified  her ;  her  vanity  grew  hurt,  when  the  tone  of 
deference  formerly  used  by  her  lover,  had  been  changed  to  one  of 
command  and  authority  ;  and  she  sometimes  sighed  when  she 
thought  of  the  unremitting  attentions  of  her  old  lover  from  Goose 
Creek,  the  indefatigable  Davis.  The  gaudy  dress,  and  imposing 
pretensions  of  the  sergeant,  had  grown  common  in  her  eye,  while, 
at  the  same  time,  the  inferiority  of  the  new  lover  to  the  old,  in  deli 
cacy  of  feeling,  and  genuine  regard,  had  become  sufficiently  obvious. 
She  had,  of  late,  instituted  the  comparison  between  them  more  than 
once,  and  the  consequence  was  inevitable.  There  was  no  little  deci 
sion  in  her  manner,  therefore,  as  she  refused  to  submit  to  the  fate 
which  Mother  Blonay  desired  to  impose  upon  her. 

"  But,  Bella,  my  daughter—" 

"  No,  no,  mother — don't  tell  me  of  Sergeant  Hastings  any  more, 
— I  won't  hear  of  him  any  longer." 

"  And  why  not,  Bella,  my  dear  ?"  exclaimed  the  redoubtable  ser 
geant  himself,  coming  suddenly  into  her  presence,  and  speaking  to 
her  with  a  mixed  expression  of  pride  and  dissatisfaction  in  his  coun 
tenance — "  why  not,  I  pray,  my  dear  ?" 

The  poor  girl  was  dumb  at  this  intrusion.  She  scarcely  dared 
to  look  up,  as,  with  the  utmost  composure,  Hastings  took  a  seat 
beside  her.  The  old  hag,  who  had  arranged  the  scheme,  at  the  same 
moment  rose  to  depart.  Quick  as  thought,  Bella  seized  her  hand, 
and  would  have  risen  also,  but  with  a  decided  force  the  sergeant 
prevented  her,  and  retained  his  hold  upon  her  wrist  while  compel 
ling  her  to  resume  the  seat  beside  him. 

"  I  must  go,  sergeant — father  is  waiting  for  me,  I'm  sure — and 
the  bells  are  'most  done  ringing.  Don't  leave  me,  mother." 

But  the  old  woman  was  gone,  moving  out  of  sight,  though  still 
keeping  within  hearing,  with  all  the  agility  of  a  young  person.  The 
poor  girl,  left  alone  with  her  danger,  seemed  for  the  moment  stupe 
fied.  She  sat  trembling  beside  the  strong  man  who  hold  hex,  speak 
ing,  when  she  did,  in  a  tremor,  and  begging  to  depart. 

But  why  dwell  on  what  ensued  ?  The  brutal  suitor  had  but  one 
object,  and  did  not  long  delay  to  exhibit  its  atrocious  feature*. 
Entreaties  were  succeeded  by  rudenesses  ;  and  the  terrified  girl, 
Arieking  and  screaming  to  the  old  hag  who  had  decoyed  and  left 


232  TIJE    PARTISAN. 

her,  was  dragged  recklessly  back  into  tlie  wood  by  tbe  strong  arm* 
of  her  companion. 

"  Cry  away — Goggle  now — Goggle  now — Goggle  now — scream 
on,  you  poor  fool — scream,  but  there's  no  help  for  you." 

And  as  the  old  beldam  thus  answered  to  the  prayers  of  the  girl, 
she  was  stricken  aside  and  hurled  like  a  stone  into  the  bush,  even 
while  the  fiendish  soliloquy  was  upon  her  lips,  by  the  raging  brother 
who  now  darted  forward.  In  another  instant,  and  he  had  dashe-l 
the  ravisher  to  the  earth — torn  his  sister,  now  almost  exhausted. 
from  his  grasp — and  with  his  knee  upon  the  breast  of  Hastings, 
and  his  knife  bared  in  his  hands,  that  moment  would  have  been  the 
last  of  life  to  the  ruffian,  but  for  the  intervention  of  the  two  troop 
ers,  who,  hearing  the  shriek,  had  also  rushed  forward  from  the 
recesses  in  the  wood  where  the  providence  of  Humphries  had 
placed  them.  They  prevented  the  blow,  but  with  their  aid  the  ser 
geant  was  gagged,  bound,  and  dragged  down  into  the  copse  where 
the  horses  awaited  them. 

"  Oh,  brother — dear  brother  William  !"  cried  the  terrified  girl — 
"  believe  me,  brother  William,  but  it's  not  my  fault — I  didn't  mean 
to  do  wrong !  I  am  innocent — that  I  am  !" 

She  hung  upon  him  as  if  she  feared  his  suspicions.  He  pressed 
her  to  his  arms,  while  weeping  like  a  very  child  over  her. 

"  I  know  it — I  know  it,  Bella !  and  God  knows  how  glad  I  am 
to  know  it !  Had  I  not  heard  all  between  you,  and  that  old  hag 
of  hell,  I'd  ha'  put  this  knife  into  you,  just  the  same  as  if  you 
were  not  my  own  flesh  and  blood.  But  go  now — run  to  clmrcl^ 
and  pray  to  have  some  sense  as  well  as  innocence ;  for  innocence 
without  sense  is  like  a  creeping  baby  that  has  not  yet  got  the  use 
of  its  arms  and  legs.  Go  now — run  all  the  way — and  mind  that 
you  say  nothing  to  the  old  man  about  it." 

Throwing  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  kissing  him,  she  hurried 
upon  her  way  with  the  speed  of  a  bird  just  escaping,  and  narrowly, 
from  the  net  of  the  fowler. 


CHAPTER    XXI, 


Unfold — unfold — the  day  ii  going  Out 
And  we  must  read  this  ancient  history 


THK  clouds  were  gathering  fast — the  waters  were  troubled  — and 
the  approaching  tumult  and  disquiet  of  all  things  in  Carolina, 
clearly  indicated  the  coming  of  that  strife,  so  soon  to  overcast  the 
scene — so  long  to  keep  it  darkened — so  deeply  to  empurple  it  with 
blood.  The  continentals  were  approaching  rapidly,  and  the  effect 
was  that  of  magic  upon  the  long  prostrated  energies  of  the  Soulh. 
The  people  were  aroused,  awakened,  stimulated,  and  emboldened. 
They  gathered  in  little  squads  throughout  the  country.  The  news 
was  generally  abroad  that  Gates  was  to  command  the  expected 
army — Gates,  the  conqueror  at*8aratoga,  whose  very  name,  at  that 
time,  was  a  host.  The  successes  of  Sumter  in  the  up-country,  of 
Marion  on  the  Pedee,  of  Pickens  with  a  troop  of  mounted  rifle 
men — a  new  species  of  force  projected  by  himself — of  Butler,  of 
Horry,  James,  and  others,  were  generally  whispered  about  among 
the  hitherto  desponding  whigs.  These  encouraging  prospects  were 
not  a  little  strengthened  in  the  parishes  by  rumours  of  small  suc 
cesses  nearer  at  hand.  The  swamps  were  now  believed  to  be  full 
of  enemies  to  royal  power,  only  wanting  embodiment  and  arms  ; 
and  truly  did  Tarleton,  dilating  upon  the  condition  of  things  at  this 
period  in  the  colony,  give  a  melancholy  summary  of  those  influ 
ences  which  were  crowding  together,  as  it  was  fondly  thought  by 
the  patriots,  for  the  overwhelming  of  foreign  domination. 

"Discontents" — according  to  his  narrative — "were  disseminated 
— secret  conspiracies  entered  into  upon  the  frontier — hostilities  were 
already  begun  in  many  places,  and  every  thing  seemed  to  menace 
a  revolution  as  rapid  as  that  which  succeeded  the  surrender  of 
Charleston." 


234  THE   PARTUSA.N 

The  storm  grew  more  imposing  in  its  terrors,  when,  promising 
himself  confidently  a  march  of  triumph  through  the  country,  Gates, 
in  a  swelling  proclamation,  announced  his  assumption  of  command 
over  the  southern  army.  It  was  a  promise  sadly  disappointed 
in  the  end — yet  the  effect  was  instantaneous  ;  and,  with  the  know 
ledge  of  his  approach,  the  entire  Black  river  country  was  in  insur 
rection. 

This  was  the  province  of  Marion,  and  to  his  active  persuasion 
and  influence  the  outbreak  must  chiefly  be  ascribed.  But  the 
influence  of  events  upon  other  sections  was  not  less  immediate, 
though  less  overt  and  important  m  their  development.  The  fer 
menting  excitement,  which,  in  men's  minds,  usually  precedes  the 
action  of  powerful,  because  long  suppressed,  elements  of  mischief, 
had  reached  its  highest  point  of  forbearance.  The  immediately 
impelling  power  was  alone  wanting,  and  this  is  always  to  be  found 
in  that  restless  love  of  change,  growing  with  its  facilities,  which 
forms  so  legitimate  a  portion  of  our  proper  nature.  There  is  a 
wholesome  stir  in  strife  itself,  which,  like  the  thunderstorm  in  the 
sluggish  atmosphere,  imparts  a  renewed  energy,  and  a  better  con 
dition  of  health  and  exercise,  to  tffe  attributes  and  agents  of  the 
moral  man. 


Let  us  turn  once  more  to  the  region  already  somewhat  familiar 
through  these  pages.  We  are  again  in  the  precincts  of  the  Ashley. 
These  old  woods  about  Dorchester  deserve  to  be  famous.  There  is 
not  a  wagon  track — not  a  defile — not  a  clearing — not  a  traverse 
of  these  plains,  which  has  not  been  consecrated  by  the  strife  for 
liberty  ;  the  close  strife — the  desperate  struggle  ;  the  contest,  unre 
laxing,  unyielding  to  the  last,  save  only  with  death  or  conquest. 
These  old  trees  have  looked  down  upon  blood  and  battles ;  the 
thick  array  and  the  solitary  combat  between  single  foes,  needing 
no  other  witnesses.  What  tales  might  they  not  tell  us !  The 
sands  have  drunk  deeply  of  holy  and  hallowed  blood — blood  that 
gave  them  value  and  a  name,  and  made  for  them  a  place  in  all 
human  recollection.  The  grass  here  has  been  beaten  down,  in  suc 
cessive  seasons,  by  heavy  feet — by  conflicting  horsemen — by  driv 
ing  and  recoiling  artillery.  Its  deep  green  has  been  dyed  with  a 


ANCIENT  CHRONICLERS.  235 

yet  deeper  and  a  darker  stain — the  outpourings  of  the  invader's 
veins,  mingling  with  the  generous  streams  flowing  from  bosoms 
that  had  but  one  hope — but  one  purpose — the  unpolluted  freedom 
and  security  of  home ;  the  purity  of  the  threshold,  the  sweet 
ivpose  of  the  domestic  hearth  from  the  intrusion  of  hostile  feet ; — 
the  only  objects  for  which  men  may  brave  the  stormy  and  the 
brutal  strife,  and  still  keep  the  "  whiteness  of  their  souls." 

The  Carolinian  well  knows  these  hallowed  places ;  for  every  acre 
has  its  tradition  in  this  neighbourhood.     He  rides  beneath  the 
thiek  oaks,  whose  branches  have  covered  regiments,  and  looks  up 
to  them   with  heedful  veneration.      Well  he  remembers  the  old 
defile  at  the  entrance  just  above  Dorchester  village,  where  a  red 
clay  hill  rises  abruptly,  breaking  pleasantly  the  dead  level  of  coun 
try  all  around  it.     The  rugged  limbs  and  trunk  of  a  huge  oak, 
which  hung  above  its  brow,  and  has  been  but  recently  overthrown, 
was  itself  an  historian.     It  was  notorious  in  tradition  as  the  "fful- 
faws  oak  ;"  its  limbs  being  employed  by  both  parties,  as  they  seve 
rally  obtained  the  ascendency,  for  the  purposes  of  summary  execu 
tion.     Famous,  indeed,  was  all  the  partisan  warfare  in  this  neigh 
bourhood,  from  the  time  of  its  commencement,  with  our  story,  in 
1780,  to  the  day,  when,  hopeless  of  their  object,  the  troops  of  the 
inrader  withdrew   to  their  crowded  vessels,  flying  from  the  land 
tkey  had  vainly  struggled   to  subdue.     You  should  hear  the  old 
housewives  dilate  upon  these  transactions.     You  should  hear  them 
paint  the  disasters,  the  depression  of  the  Carolinians  !  how  their  chief 
city  was  besieged  and  taken  ;  their  little  army  -dispersed  or  cut 
U>  pieces ;  and  how  the  invader  marched  over  the  country,  and 
called  it  his.     Anon,  they  would  show  you  the  little  gathering  in 
the  swamp — the  small   scouting  squad  timidly  stealing  forth  into 
the  plain,  and  contenting  itself  with  cutting  off  a  foraging  party 
or  a  baggage  wagon,  or  rescuing  a  disconsolate  group  of  captives 
on  their  way  to  the  city  and  the  prison-ships.     Soon,  emboldened 
by  success,  the  litrie  squad  is  increased  by  numbers,  and  aims  at 
larger  game.     Unaer  some  such  leader  us  Colonel  Washington,  you 
should  see  them,  anon,  well   mounted,  coursing  along  the  Ashley 
river  road,  by  the  peep  of  day.  well  skiHwd  in  the  management  of 
their  steeds,  whose   high   necks   beautifully  arch   uuder   the  curbj 


236  THE    PARTISAN. 

while,  in  obedience  to  the  rider's  will,  they  plunge  fearlessly  through 
brake  and  through  brier,  over  the  fallen  tree,  and  into  the  suspi 
cious  water.  Heedless  of  all  things  but  the  proper  achievement  of 
their  bold  adventure,  the  warriors  go  onward,  while  the  broad 
swords  flash  in  the  sunlight,  and  the  trumpet  cheers  them  with  a 
tone  of  victory. 

And  goodlier  still  is  the  sight,  when,  turning  the  narrow  lane, 
thick  fringed  with  the  scrubby  oak  and  the  pleasant  myrtle,  you 
behold  them  come  suddenly  to  the  encounter  with  the  hostile  inva 
ders.  How  they  hurrah,  and  rush  to  the  charge  with  a  mad  emo 
tion  that  the  steed  partakes — his  ears  erect,  and  his  nostrils  dis 
tended,  while  his  eyeballs  start  forward,  and  grow  red  with  the 
straining  effort ;  then,  how  the  riders  bear  down  all  before  them, 
and,  with  swords  shooting  out  from  their  cheeks,  make  nothing  of 
the  upraised  bayonet  and  pointed  spear,  but,  striking  in,  flank  and 
front,  carry  confusion  wherever  they  go — while  the  hot  sands  drink 
in  the  life-blood  of  friend  and  foe,  streaming  through  a  thousand 
wounds. 

Hear  them  tell  of  these,  and  of  the  "  Game  Cock,"  Sumter ; 
how,  always  ready  for  fight,  with  a  valour  which  was  too  frequently 
rashness,  he  would  rush  into  the  hostile  ranks,  and,  with  his  power 
ful  frame  and  sweeping  sabre,  would  single  out  for  inveterate  strife 
his  own  particular  enemy. 

Then,  of  the  subtle  "  Swamp  Fox,'r  Marion,  who,  slender  of  form, 
and  having  but  little  confidence  in  his  own  physical  prowess,  was 
never  seen  to  use  his  sword  in  battle ;  gaining  by  stratagem  and 
unexpected  enterprise  those  advantages  which  his  usual  inferiority 
of  force  would  never  have  permitted  him  to  gain  otherwise.  They 
will  tell  you  of  his  conduct  and  his  coolness ;  of  his  ability,  with 
small  means,  to  consummate  leading  objects — the  best  proof  of 
military  talent ;  and  of  his  wonderful  command  of  his  men  ;  how 
they  would  do  his  will,  though  it  led  to  the  most  perilous  adven 
ture,  with  as  much  alacrity  as  if  they  were  going  to  a  banquet. 
Of  the  men  themselves,  though  in  rags,  almost  starving,  and 
exposed  to  ah  changes  of  the  weather,  how  cheerfully,  in  the  fast- 
iieases  of  the  swamp,  they  would  sing  their  rude  song  about  the 
eapacity  of  their  leader  and  their  devotion  to  his  person,  in  some 


WAKfAKE   OF   THIS    WOODS.  "'61 

such  Btraiii  as  that  which  follows,  and  which  we  owe  to  brave  and 
generous  George  Dennison ! 

George  Dennison  was  himself  a  follower  of  Marion.  lie 
belonged  to  the  race  of  troubadours,  though  living  too  late  for  the 
sort  of  life  which  they  enjoyed,  and  for  the  fame  which  crowned 
their  equally  eccentric  lives  and  ballads.  He  sang  for  the  parti 
sans,  the  gallant  feat  even  in  the  moment  when  performed,  and 
taught  to  the  hearts  of  a  rude  cavalry,  the  lurking  hope  of  remem 
brance  in  song  when  they  themselves  should  never  hear.  In  tlie 
deep  thickets  of  the  wood,  in  the  wild  recesses  of  the  swamp,  wht-n 
the  day's  inarch  was  over,  when  the  sharp  passage  at  arms  was 
ended,  whether  in  flight  or  victory, — his  ballads,  mostly  extem 
pore,  cheered  the  dull  hours  and  the  drowsy  bivouac,  while  his 
rough  but  martial  lyrics  inspired  the  audacious  charge,  and 
prompted  the  bold  enterprise  and  the  emulous  achievement.  Ah 
brave  and  generous  George  Dennison,  we  shall  borrow  of  the  songs 
of  thy  making.  We  sliall  prolong  for  other  ears  the  echoes  of  thy 
lively  lays,  and  the  legends  which  we  owe  to  thee,  who  art  thy 
self  unknown.  For  verily,  thou  hadst  the  heart  and  courage  of 
true  and  gallant  partisan  ;  and  thou  couldst  sing  with  the  natural 
voice  of  a  warm  and  passionate  poet ;  and  thou  couldst  share  tlie 
sufferings,  and  soothe  the  sorrows  of  a  comrade,  with  the  loyalty 
of  a  knightly  friendship  ;  and  thou  couldst  love  with  all  the  tend*; 
sweetness  that  lies  in  the  heart  of  woman  ;  and  thou  couldst  cling 
in  fight  to  thy  enemy,  with  the  anger  of  a  loving  hate  ;  and  Ihou 
didst  not  love  life  too  r>uch  for  honor ;  and  thou  didst  not  fear 
death  so  much  but  thou  couldst  brave  him  with  a  laugh  and  a 
song,  even  in  the  crossing  of  the  spears  !  Verily,  George  Denni 
son,  I  will  remember  thee,  and  preserve  thy  rude  ballads,  made  by 
thee  for  thy  comrades'  ears  in  the  swamps  of  Carolina,  so  that  oiliar 
ears  shall  hear  them,  who  knew  thee  not.  Thou  slialt  tell  tlu-m 
now,  of  the  life  led  by  thee  and  thy  comrades,  for  long  seasons, 
when  thou  hast  followed  the  fortunes  of  the  famous  Swamp 
Fox : 


THE    PARTISAN. 


THE   SWAMP  FOX. 


1  W«  follow  where  the  Swamp  Fox  guid« 

His  friends  and  merry  men  are  we ; 
And  when  the  troop  of  Tarleton  rides, 

We  burrow  in  the  cypress  tree. 
The  turfy  hammock  is  our  bed, 

Our  home  is  in  the  red-deer's  dan, 
Our  rp/>f,  the  tree-top  overhead, 

For  we  are  wild  and  hunted  men. 


"  W«  fly  by  day,  and  shun  its  light, 

But,  prompt  to  strike  the  sudden  blow, 
We  mount,  and  start  with  early  night, 

And  through  the  forest  track  our  foe. 
And  soon  he  hears  our  chargers  leap, 

The  Sashing  sabre  blinds  his  eyes, 
And  ere  he  drives  away  his  sleep, 

And  rushes  from  his  camp,  h«  die*. 


"  Fr««  bridle-bit,  good  gallant  stead, 

That  will  not  ask  a  kind  careu, 
To  swim  the  Santee  at  our  need, 

When  on  his  heels  the  foemen  pr 
The  true  heart  and  the  ready  hand, 

The  spirit,  stubborn  to  be  fre« — 
The  twisted  bore,  the  smiting  brand — 

And  we  are  Marion'i  men,  yon  M« 

IT. 
"Now  light  the  fire,  and  cook  the  meal. 

The  last,  perhaps,  that  we  shall  tast«; 
I  hear  the  Swamp  Fox  round  us  steal, 
And  that's  a  sign  we  move  in  hart*). 
He  whist  lea  to  the  scouts,  and  hark ! 

You  hear  his  order  calm  and  low — 
Come,  wave  your  torch  across  the  dark, 
And  let  IM  tee  the  boys  that  go. 


THE    SWAMP    KOX.  239 


We  may  not  see  their  forms  again, 

God  help  "em,  should  they  find  the  strife 
For  they  are  strong  and  fearless  men, 

And  make  no  cowaid  terms  for  life : 
They'll  fight  as  long  as  Marion  bids, 

And  when  he  speaks  the  word  to  shy, 
Then — not  till  then — they  tnm  their  steeds, 

Through  thickening  shade  and  swamp  to  Ay. 


Now  stir  the  fire,  aud  lie  at  ease, 

The  scouts  are  gone,  and  on  the  brush 
I  aee  the  colonel  bend  his  knees, 

To  take  his  slumbers  too — but  hush! 
He's  praying,  comrades :  'tis  not  strange 

The  man  that's  fighting  day  by  day, 
May  well,  when  night  comes,  take  a 

And  down  upon  his  knees  to  pray. 


1  Break  up  that  hoecake,  boys,  aud  hand 

The  sly  and  silent  jug  that's  there; 
I  love  not  it  should  idly  stand, 

When  Marion's  men  have  need  of  che* 
Tis  seldom  that  our  luck  affords  * 

A  stuff  like  this  we  just  have  quaffed, 
And  dry  potatoes  on  our  boards 

May  always  call  for  such  u  draught. 


Now  pile  the  brush  and  roll  the  log : 

Hard  pillow,  but  a  soldier's  head, 
That's  half  the  time  in  brake  and  bog, 

Must  never  think  of  softer  bed. 
The  owl  is  hooting  to  the  night, 

The  cooter  crawling  o'er  the  bank, 
And  in  that  pond  the  plashing  light, 

Telli  where  the  alligator  sa;>k. 


240  THE   PARTISAN. 

n. 

"  What — 'tis  the  signal  I  start  so  soon, 

And  through  the  Santee  swamp  so  deep, 
Without  the  aid  of  friendly  moon, 

And  we,  Heaven  help  us,  half  asleep ! 
But  courage,  comrades !    Marion  leads, 

The  Swamp  Fox  takes  us  out  to-night; 
So  clear  your  swords,  and  spur  your  steeds, 

There's  goodly  chance,  I  think,  of  fight. 


"  We  follow  where  the  Swamp  Fox  guides, 

We  leave  the  swamp  and  cypress  tree, 
3ur  apurs  are  iu  our  coursers'  sides, 

And  ready  for  the  strife  are  we — 
The  tory  camp  is  now  in  sight, 

And  there  he  cowers  within  his  den — 
He  hears  our  shout,  he  dreads  the  fight, 

He  fears,  and  flies  from  Marion's  men." 

Thus  sang  the  native  warrior  of  the  Ashley,  gallant  George  Den- 
nison,  long  after  the  war  was  over.  He  told  the  story  truly  of  the 
Partisan,  and  he  did  not  sing  amiss.  He  had  a  rough  and  native 
vigour — a  talent  all  feis  own — and  did  not  smoothe  his  song  to  the 
loss  of  spirit,  and  did  not  shape  his  applauses  to  please  the  earsi 
the  pretender.  He  made  no  man  the  hero  of  his  song  who  had 
not  made  himself  a  hero  in  his  performances.  Truer  historian  o. 
the  deeds  which  he  beheld,  never  put  fact  on  record ;  more  faith 
ful  bard  never  sang  in  honour  of  b~ave  spirits.  Verily,  he  was  not 
unworthy  to  chant  the  praises  of  our  forest  rangers. 

And  gallant  men  were  the  warriors  whom  he  honoured  by  his 
songs.  They  owe,  perchance,  but  little  to  his  rustic  muse,  and  they 
have  had  the  fortune  to  secure  the  homage  of  others  who  have 
better  guaranties  of  Fame.  Sharing  the  glories  of  Marion,  their 
own  deeds  have  grown  famous  in  song  and  story — while  poor 
George  Dennison  remains  unknown.  Yet,  could  he  now  survive  to 
describe  their  progress — to  paint  their  deeds — to  give  us  the  lively 
details  of  those  wild  and  picturesque  adventures,  in  which  day  and 
night  found  them  perpetually  engaged — he  would  show  us  such 


ARTS   OF   THE     PARTISAN".  241 

scenes  as  imagination  cannot  well  conceive,  or  poetry  of  herself  de 
pict.  Ue  would  show  us  the  rude  forester,  as,  passing  from  his 
farmstead  to  the  swamp,  flying  from  the  marauder,  he  became,  in 
time,  the  adroit  partisan,  under  the  ablest  leaders.  How  the  neces 
sity,  ever  present,  and  usually  in  the  aspec.  of  a  pressing  danger, 
brought  out  all  the  resources  of  a  natural  art,  and  taught  him  in  a 
thousand  stratagems.  How  he  grew,  in  time,  to  be  as  stealthy  aa 
the  fox,  and  as  subtle  as  the  serpent.  How  he  grew,  in  time,  to 
practise  all  the  arts  of  all  the  natural  inhabitants  of  swamp  and 
thicket :  to  imitate  the  cry  of  the  bird,  the  stealth  of  the  beast,  the 
fipeed  of  the  eagle,  the  fierce  valour  of  the  tiger  !  How  to  snare  and 
circumvent  the  foe!  How,  imbedding  himself  in  the  covering 
leaves  and  branches  of  the  thick-limbed  tree,  he  would  lie  in  wait 
till  the  fall  of  evening ;  then,  dropping  suddenly  upou  the  shoulders 
of  the  sentry  as  he  paced  beneath,  would  drive  the  keen  knife  into 
his  heart,  before  he  could  yet  recover  from  his  panic.  How  he 
would  burrow  in  the  hollow  of  the  miry  ditch,  and  crawling,  Indian 
fashion,  into  the  trench,  wait  patiently  until  the  soldier  came  into 
the  moonlight,  when  the  silver  drop  at  his  rifle's  muzzle  fell  with 
fatal  accuracy  upon  his  button,  or  his  breastplate,  and  the  sharp 
sudden  crack  which  followed  almost  invariably  announced  the  vic 
tim's  long  sleep  of  death.  And  a  thousand  legends  besides  would 
lie  teach  us,  making  them  live  to  our  eyes,  and  work  like  passion  in 
our  souls,  of  which  tradition  and  history  speak  but  faintly,  and  of 
the  arts  and  valour  by  which  our  partisans  grew  enabled  to  neutral 
ize  the  superiority  of  European  force  and  tactics.  Often  and  again 
have  they  lain  close  to  the  gushing  spring,  and  silent  in  the  bush, 
like  the  tiger  in  his  jungle,  awaiting  until  (he  foragers  had  squatted 
around  it  for  the  enjoyment  of  their  midday  meal  ;  then,  rushing 
forth  with  a  fierce  halloo,  seizing  upon  the  stacked  arms,  and  beat 
ing  down  the  surprised  but  daring  soldiers  who  might  rise  up  to  de 
fend  them.  And  this  sort  of  warfare,  small  though  it  may  appear, 
was  at  last  triumphant.  The  successes  of  the  patriots,  during  the 
whole  period  of  the  revolutionary  contest  in  the  south,  were  almost 
entirely  the  result  of  the  rapid,  unexpected  movement — the  sudden 
stroke  made  by  the  little  troop,  familiar  with  its  ground,  knowing 
its  object,  and  melting  away  at  the  approach  of  a  superior  enemy, 


242  THE    PARTISAN. 

like  so  many  dusky  shadows,  secure  in  the  thousand  swamp  recessed 
which  surrounded  them.  Nor  did  they  rely  always  on  stratagem 
in  the  prosecution  of  their  enterprises.  There  were  gleams  of  chi 
valry  thrown  athwart  this  sombre  waste  of  strife  and  bloodshed, 
worthy  of  the  middle  ages.  Bold  and  graceful  riders,  with  fin« 
horse.s,  ready  in  all  cases,  fierce  in  onset,  and  reckless  in  valour, 
the  southern  cavalry  had  an  early  renown.  The  audacity  with 
which  they  drove  through  the  forest,  through  broad  rivers,  such 
as  the  Santee,  by  day  and  by  night,  in  the  face  of  the  enemy, 
whether  in  flight  or  in  assault  the  same,  makes  their  achieve 
ments  as  worthy  of  romance  as  those  of  a  Bayard  or  Bernardo. 
Thousands  of  instances  are  recorded  of  that  individual  gallantry — 
that  gallantry,  stimulated  by  courage,  warmed  by  enthusiasm,  and 
refined  by  courtesy — which  gives  the  only  credentials  of  true  chi 
valry.  Such,  among  the  many,  was  the  rescue  of  the  prisoners,  by 
Jasper  and  Newton;  the  restoration  of  the  flagstaff  to  Fort  Moul- 
trie,  in  the  hottest  fire,  by  the  former;  and  the  manner  in  which  he 
got  his  death-wound  at  Savannah,  in  carrying  off  the  colours  which 
had  been  intrusted  to  him.  Such  were  many  of  the  rash  achieve 
ments  of  Sumtcr  and  Laurens,  and  such  was  the  daring  of  the  brave 
Oonyers,  who  daily  challenged  his  enemy  in  the  face  of  the  hostile 
army.  These  were  all  partisan  warriors,  and  such  were  their  cha 
racteristics.  Let  us  now  return  to  the  adventures  we  have  under 
taken  to  relate,  borrowing  freely  from  George  Dennisou,  and  relate 
the  deeds  which  distinguish  the  lives  of  others,  less  known,  b  it  not 
unworthy  to  be  ranked  honourably  among  the  bravest. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

"  N»w,  yield  thee  up  thy  charge — d«lay  and  die — 
I  may  not  spare  thee  in  •  quest  like  this, 
But  strike  even  while  I  ipeak.' 

WK  have  witnessed  the  sudden  capture  of  the  truculent  BritiiL 
•crgeant,  by  the  brother  of  the  damsel  whom  he  had  destined  for 
his  prey.  Aided  by  his  new  recruits,  Humphries  brought  his 
prisoner  to  the  camp  with  little  difficulty.  The  worthy  sergeant, 
it  is  true,  did  at  first  offer  resistance;  he  mouthed  and  struggled, 
as  the  bandages  compressed  his  mouth,  and  the  ligatures  re-strained 
his  arms ;  but  the  timely  application  of  hand  and  foot,  which  his 
captors  did  not  hesitate  to  employ  to  compel  obedience,  not  to 
speak  of  the  threatening  aspect  of  the  dagger — which  the  much 
roused  lieutenant  held  more  than  once  to  his  throat — brought  him 
to  reasqn,  and  counselled  that  wholesome  resignation  to  circum 
stances,  which,  though  not  always  easy  and  pleasant  o'f  adoption,  is, 
at  least,  on  most  occasions^  well  becoming  in  him  who  has  no 
alternatives.  He  was,  therefore,  soon  mounted  on  horseback, 
along  with  one  of  the  troopers,  and  in  a  state  of  most  commendable 
quietness,  he  reached,  after  an  hour's  quick  riding,  the  encampment 
at  Bacon's  Bridge.  There,  well  secured  with  a  stout  rope,  and 
watched  by  the  guard  assigned  for  the  other  prisoners,  close  in  the 
thick  and  knotty  wood  which  girded  the  swamp,  we  will  at  present 
leave  him. 

Singleton  had  well  concealed  his  little  squadron  in  the  same 
shelter.  Like  a  true  partisan,  he  had  omitted  no  precautions.  His 
scouts — men  that  he  could  trust — were  out  in  all  directions,  and  his 
sentries  watched  both  sides  of  the  river.  The  position  which  he 
bad  chosen  was  one  established  by  General  Moultrie  in  the  previous 
season.  It  had  been  vacated  when  that  brave  old  warrior  was 
called  to  league  his  troops  with  those  of  Lincoln,  in  defence  of  Ih4 


244  THE    PARTISAN. 

city.  The  entrenchments  and  barracks  were  in  good  order,  but 
Singleton  studiously  avoided  their  use;  snd,  to  the  thoughtless 
wayfarer  passing  by  the  little  fort  and  the  clumsy  blockhouse, 
nothing  could  possibly  have  looked  more  pacific.  The  partisan, 
though  immediately  at  hand,  preferred  a  less  ostentatious  position. 
We  find  him  accordingly,  close  clustering  with  his  troop  in  the 
deep  wood  that  lay  behind  it.  Here,  for  a  brief  period  at  least,  his 
lurking-place  was  secure,  and  he  only  desired  it  for  a  few  clap 
longer.  Known  to  the  enemy,  he  could  not  have  held  it,  even  for 
a  time  so  limited  ;  but  would  have  been  compelled  to  rapid  flight, 
or  a  resort  to  the  deeper  shadows  and  fastnesses  of  the  swamp. 

At  this  point  the  river  ceased  to  be  navigable  even  for  the  com 
mon  poleboats  of  the  country ;  and  this  was  another  source  of  it* 
security.  Filled  up  by  crowding  trees — the  gloomy  cypresses 
striding  boldly  into  its  very  bosom — it  slunk  away  into  shade  and 
silence,  winding  and  broken,  after  a  brief  effort  at  a  concentrated 
course,  into  numberless  little  bayous  and  indentures,  muddy  creeks, 
stagnating  ponds,  miry  holes ;  constituting,  throughout,  a  region 
only  pregnable  by  desperation,  and  only  loved  by  the  fierce  and 
filthy  reptile,  the  ominous  bird,  the  subtile  fox,  and  venomous  ser 
pent.  This  „  region,  immediately  at  hand,  promised  a  safe' place  of 
retreat,  for  a  season,  to  the  adventurous  partisan  ;  and  in  its  gloomy 
recesses  he  well  knew  that,  unless  guided  by  a  genuine  swamp- 
sucker,  all  Europe  might  vainly  seek  to  find  the  little  force,  so 
easily  concealed,  which  he  now  commanded. 

Humphries  soon  furnished  his  captain  with  all  the  intelligence 
he  had  obtained  at  Dorchester.  He  gave  a  succinct  account  of 
the  affair  of  Mother  Blonay,  and  her  visit  to  the  village — of  tha 
movement  of  Huck  to  assail  him  on  the  Stono-^-and  of  the  purpose 
of  the  tory  to  proceed  onward,  by  the  indirect  route  already  men 
tioned,  to  join  with  Tarleton  on  the  Catawba.  The  latter  particu 
lars  had  been  furnished  the  lieutenant  by  the  two  troopers  who 
had  joined  him. 

The  whole  account  determined  Singleton  to  hurry  his  own 
movement  to  join  with  Marion.  That  part  of  the  narrative  of 
Humphries  relating  to  Mother  Blonay,  decided  the  commander 
to  keep  Goggle  still  a  prisoner,  as  one  not  to  be  trusted.  Giving 


SWAMP   REFUGE.  246 

orders,  therefore,  for  his  continued  detention,  he  proceeded  to  put 
things  in  readiness  for  the  movement  of  the  squad,  with  nightfall,  to 
their  old  and  better  shelter  on  the  little  island  in  the  Cypress 
Swamp.  This  done,  Singleton  commanded  his  horse  in  readiness, 
and  bidding  the  boy  Lance  Frampton  in  attendance,  despatched 
him  to  prepare  his  own.  To  Humphries  he  now  gave  charge  of 
the  troop — repeated  his  orders  to  move  with  the  dusk  to  their  old 
quarters — and  having  informed  the  lieutenant  of  the  true  object  of 
his  own  adventure,  he  set  forth,  only  attended  by  the  boy  Frampton, 
taking  an  upper  road  leading  towards  the  Santee. 

That  object  may  as  well  be  told  now  as  ever.  Singleton  had 
been  for  some  time  awaiting  intelligence  of  Marion's  movement  to 
Nelson's  ferry.  A  courier  had  been  looked  for  daily,  since  he 
had  left  his  leader  ;  and  as,  in  these  suspicious  times,  every  precau 
tion  in  the  conveyance  and  receipt  of  intelligence  was  necessary,  it 
followed  that  many  difficulties  lay  in  the  way  of  its  transmission. 
Men  met  on  the  highways,  to  fear,  to  avoid,  and  frequently  to  fight 
with  one  another.  They  assumed  contrary  characters  in  the  presence 
of  the  stranger,  and  the  play  at  cross-purposes,  even  among  friends, 
was  the  natural  consequence  of  a  misunderstood  position. 

There  were  signs  and  phrases  agreed  upon  between  Mai-ion  and 
his  trusted  men,  mysterious  or  unmeaning  to  all  besides,  which 
Singleton  was  not  permitted  to  impart  to  others.  This  necessity 
prompted  him  forth,  if  possible,  to  meet  with  the  expected  courier, 
bearing  him  his  orders,  lie  attached  the  younger  Frampton  to  his 
person.  He  chose  him  as  too  young  for  treason,  and,  indeed,  he  want 
ed  no  better  companion  to  accompany  him  on  his  ramble.  Setting 
forth  by  noonday,  he  kept  boldly  along  the  common  Ashley  river  or 
Dorchester  road,  as,  winding  in  accordance  with  the  course  of  the 
stream  it  carried  him  above  and  completely  around  the  spot  chosen 
for  his  camp  in  the  Cypress. 

The  two  saw  but  little,  for  some  lime,  to  attract  them  in  this 
ramble.  They  traversed  the  defile  of  thick  oaks,  which  form  BO 
large  a  part  of  the  growth  of  that  region  ;  then  fell  into  a  monoto 
nous  pine-land  track,  through  which  they  pushed  their  way. 
Cheerless  quite,  bald  of  home  ami  habitation,  they  saw  nothing 
throughout  the  melancholy  wastw  more  imposing  than  the  plodding 


2-16  THE    PARTISAN. 

negro,  with  his  staff  in  hand,  and  with  white  teeth  peering  through 
his  thick,  flagging  lips,  in  a  sort  of  deferential  smile,  at  their 
approach.  Sometimes, touched  with  the  apprehensions  of  the  time, 
he  too  would  start  away  as  he  beheld  them,  and  they  might  sec 
him,  as  they  looked  backward,  cautiously  watching  their  progress 
from  behind  the  pine-tree,  or  the  crumbling  fence.  Occasionally 
they  came  to  a  dwelling  in  ruins,  or  burnt — the  cornfield  scorched 
and  blackened  with  the  recent  fire,  the  fences  overthrown,  and  the 
cows,  almost  wild,  having  free  possession,  and  staring  wildly  upon 
them  as  they  drew  nigh. 

"And  this  is  war !"  said  Singleton,  musingly.  "This  is  war— 
the  merciless,  the  devastating  war!  Oh,  my  country,  when  wilt 
thou  be  free  from  invasion — when  will  thy  people  come  back  to 
these  deserted  dwellings — when  will  the  corn  flourish  green  along 
these  stricken  and  blasted  fields,  without  danger  from  the  trampling 
horse,  and  the  wanton  and  devouring  fire  ?  When — oh,  when?" 

He  spoke  almost  unconsciously,  but  was  recalled  to  himself,  as, 
wondering  at  what  he  heard,  the  peering  eyes  of  Lance  Frampton, 
as  he  rode  up  beside  him,  perused  keenly  the  unusually  sad  ex 
pression  of  his  countenance.  Singleton  noted  his  gaze,  and,  with 
out  rebuking  it,  addressed  him  with  a  question  concerning  his 
father,  who  had  been  missing  from  the  troop  ever  since  the  affair 
with  Travis. 

"Lance,  have  you  heard  nothing  of  your  father  since  I  last  asked 
you  about  him  ?" 

"Nothing,  sir;  nothing  at  all,  since  we  left  the  Cypress." 

"  You  did  not  see  him  then,  at  our  departure  ?" 

"No,  sir;  but  I  heard  him  laugh  long  after  I  missed  him  from 
the  troop.  He  couldn't  have  been  far  off,  sir,  when  we  came  out 
of  the  swamp;  though  I  didn't  see  him  then,  and — and — 1  didn't 
want  to  see  him." 

"  Why  not,  boy  ? — your  father,  too  !" 

"  Why,  sir,  father  is  very  strange  sometimes,  and  then  we  never 
talk  to  him  or  trouble  him,  and  he  don't  want  people  to  see  him 
then.  We  always  know  how  he  is  when  he  laughs,  sir,  and  then 
we  go  out  of  his  way.  We  know  he  is  strange  then,  for  he  nerer 
at  any  other  time." 


THE   BOY'S   AMBITION.  247 

'•*  What  Jo  you  moan  by  strange — is  lie  dangerous  ?" 

"Sometimes,  sir,  he  plays  dangerously  with  you.  But  it's  all  in 
play,  for  he  laughs,  and  doesn't  look  in  earnest ;  but  he  is  apt  to 
hurt  people  then,  lie  once  threw  me  into  the  tree  when  he  was 
so :  but  it  wasn't  in  earnest,  he  didn't  mean  to  do  me  hurt,  I'm 
sure ;  but  he  didn't  know ;  he  cau't  tell  what  he  does  when  the 
htrange  tit  is  on  him." 

"  And  where  do  you  think  he  is  now  ? — in  the  swamp  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  he  loves  to  be  in  the  swamp." 

"  And  how  long,  boy,  is  it  since  he  became  strange  ?" 

"Oh,  a  very  long  time,  sir;  ever  since  I  was  a  little  child.  But 
he  has  been  much  stranger  since  my  mother's  death  !" 

"  No  wonder  !  no  wonder !  That  was  enough  to  make  him  so — 
that  cruel  murder;  but  we  will  avenge  it,  boy — we  will  avenge  it.M 

"  Yesr  sir;  that's  what  I  want  to  do,  as  soon  as  you'll  let  me.  I 
long  to  have  a  chance  to  cut  a  man  over  the  head." 

The  boy  stopped  and  blushed — half  fearing  that  he  had  said  too 
much  ;  but  the  kindled  fire  of  his  eye  was  unshadowed,  and  these 
was  a  quiver  of  his  lips,  and  an  increasing  heave  of  his  breast, 
that  did  not  escape  the  keen  glance  of  Singleton.  The  latter  was 
about,  to  speak,  when  suddenly  the  boy  stopped  him,  bent  forward 
upon  his  horse,  and  pointing  with  his  finger  to  an  opening  from 
the  roadside,  called  the  attention  of  his  commander  in  that 
direction. 

"  I'm  sure,  sir,  it's  a  man — a  white  man  ;  his  back  was  to  us, 
sir;  he's  in  there." 

At  the  word,  Singleton  drove  the  spur  into  his  steed,  and  the 
boy  followed  him.  In  a  few  moments,  he  was  at  the  designated 
spot,  and  there,  sure  enough,  even  as  his  companion  had  said,  in  the 
little  break  of  the  woods,  on  the  hillock's  side,  a  strange  man  stood 
before  them. 

The  person,  thus  surprised,  now  evidently  beheld  them  for  the  first 
time.  He  had  been  tightening  the  saddle-girth  around  his  horse, 
that  stood  quietly  cropping  the  grass  at  their  approach  ;  and  his 
eyes  were  turned  over  his  shoulder,  surveying  the  new-comers.  He 
hesitated,  and  his  manner  had  in  it  something  of  precipitation. 
This  was  the  more  evident  to  Singleton,  as,  on  their  appearance,  h« 


248  THE   PARTISAN. 

began  to  whistle,  and  obviously  assumed  a  degree  of  composure 
which  he  did  not  feel.  He  had  been  taking  his  midday  repast  at  the 
spring,  which  trickled  from  the  hillside  below  them  ;  and  the  remains 
of  his  meal,  consisting  of  a  bit  of  dried  venison,  cold  ham,  and 
corn  hoecake,  were  still  open  upon  the  grass,  lying  on  the  buckskin 
wrapper  which  contained  them.  The  man  was  certainly  a  traveller 
and  had  ridden  far  ;  ihe  condition  of  his  horse  proved  that ;  though 
his  dress  and  appearance  were  those  of  the  plain  farmers  of  the 
neighbourhood.  A  coarse  blue  homespun  coatee,  with  thin,  whity- 
brown  pantaloons,  loosely  made,  and  a  quaker  hat,  in  the  riband  of 
which  a  huge  pipe  was  stuck  ostentatiously,  formed  his  habit.  But 
Singleton  saw  that  the  pipe  had  never  been  smoked,  and  his  infer 
ence  was  not  favourable  to  the  traveller,  from  this  simple  circum 
stance. 

Throwing  his  bridle  to  Lance  Frampton,  the  partisan  alighted, 
and  approached  the  stranger,  who  turned  to  meet  him.  There  was 
quite  a  show  of  good-humour  in  his  countenance,  as  Singleton  drew 
nigh,  and  yet  the  latter  saw  his  real  trepidation ;  and  the  anxious 
looks  which,  more  than  once,  he  cast  upon  the  stout  animal  which 
had  borne  him,  seemed  to  say  how  glad  he  would  have  been  to  use 
him  in  flight,  could  he  possibly  have  thought  to  do  so  in  safety. 

"  Good-day,  my  friend,  good-day.  You  have  ridden  far,"  said 
Singleton,  "  and  your  horse  tells  it.  May  I  ask  what  quarter  you 
come  ftom  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  to  be  sure  you  may,  stranger ;  there's  no  harm  that  I 
can  see  in  the  question,  only  as  it  happens  to  want  an  answer.  It's 
no  safe  matter,  now-a-days,  stranger,  to  tell  one's  starting  and  stop 
ping,  since,  you  see,  it  mayn't  altogether  please  them  that  hears." 

There  was  evidently  a  disposition  on  the  part  of  the  countryman 
to  feel  his  way,  and  see  how  far  he  could  bully  the  new-comer,  in 
this  equivocal  sort  of  speech.  But,  he  was  mistaken  in  the  man 
before  him,  and  though  he  had  spoken  his  evasive  reply  in  a  man 
ner  meant  to  be  conciliatory  while  it  remained  unsatisfactory,  he 
was  soon  compelled  to  see  that  his  questioner  was  by  no  means  to 
be  trifled  with. 

"  Safe  or  not,  ray  friend,"  said  Singleton,  gravely,  "  there  are 
•ome  questions  that  a  man  must  answer,  whether  he  likes  it  or  tto : 


BIRDS   THAT    CAN"   SING.  249 

there  is  a  school  proverb  that  you  must,  remember,  about  the  bird 
that  can  sing  and  will  not." 

The  man  turned* his  tobacco  in  his  jaws,  and  though  evidently 
annoyed  and  disquieted,  replied — 

"  Why,  yes,  stranger,  I  reckon  I  know  what  you  mean,  though  1 
haint  had  much  schooling;  three  months  one  year,  and  three  another, 
and  then  three  years  without  any,  don't  teach  a  body  every  kind  of 
laming.  But  the  saying  you  p'int  to  I  remember  well  enough; 
Many's  the  time  I've  hearn  it.  '  The  bird  that  wont  sing  must  be 
made  to  sing.' " 

"  I  see  your  memory  may  be  relied  upon  for  other  matters,"  said 
Singleton  ;  "  and  now,  taking  care  noj,  to  forget  the  proverb,  you 
will  please  answer  me  a  few  questions." 

"  Well,  stranger,  I'm  willing  enough.  I'm  all  over  good-natur, 
and  never  fail  to  git  vexed  with  myself  afterward,  when  the  devil 
drives  me  to  be  oncivil  to  them  that  treats  me  well.  Ax  your 
questions  straight  off-hand,  and  Pete  Larkin  is  the  boy  to  answer, 
tar  as  his  larniug  goes." 

"  I  am  glad,  Mr.  Larkin,  for  your  own  sake,  that  you  have  this 
temper.  You  will  please  to  say,  now,  where  you  are  from." 

"  Well,  now,  stranger,  I'm  only  come  from  a  little  above — and  as 
you  say,  I've  had  a  tough  ride  of  it;  but  it's  a  good  critter,  this 
here  nag  of  mine,  and  does  one's  heart  good  to  go  on  him.  So, 
you  see,  when  I'm  on  him,  I  goes  it.  I  hate  mightily  to  creep, 
terrapin  fashion,  in  a  dogtrot ;  for  you  see,  stranger,  it's  a  bad  gait, 
and  sickens  a  short  man,  though  the  horse  that  travels  stands 
it  best  of  any." 

Singleton  had  no  disposition  to  interrupt  the  speaker,  though  h« 
saw  that  he  meant  to  be  evasive.  lie  watched  his  features  attentively, 
while  he  spoke,  and  when  he  had  done,  proceeded  in  his  inquiries. 

"  From  above !  but  what  part  ?  I  would  know  precisely,  Mr. 
Larkin." 

"  Well,  now,  stranger,  as  I  haint  got  no  secrets,  I  'spose  I  may 
us  well  tell  you  'xactlj  how  'tis.  I'm  from  cl'ar  across  the  Santec  • 
1  live  'pon  the  Santee,  or  thereabouts." 

"  Indeed !  and  is  it  true,  as  we  hear  below,  that  the  wulr«e  h»v* 
grown  troublesome  in  that  quarter  j" 


250  THE    PARTISAN. 

"Wolves,  stranger  ?  Well,  now,  that  can't  be  ;  for,  you  see,  1 
come  from  all  about,  and  nobody  that  I  seed  along  the  road,  or  in 
any  settlement,  made  complaint.  I  reckon  -you  aint  beam  very 
particular  right,  now." 

"  It  must  be  the  owls,  then — yes,  it  is  the  owla ;  have  you  seen 
anv  of  them  on  your  way  ?" 

This  question,  urged  with  the  utmost  gravity  by  the  partisan, 
completed  the  fellow's  astonishment.  Revolving  the  huge  quid  of 
tobacco  —for  such  it  seemed — which  from  the  commencement  of 
the  dialogue  had  been  going  to  and  fro  between  his  jaws,  it  was 
some  seconds  before  he  could  recover  sufficiently  from  his  astonish 
ment  to  reply. 

"  Owls !  God  bless  me,  stranger,  but  that's  a  queer  question,  any 
how.  To  be  sure  thar's  owls  all  along  the  Santee.  You  may  hear 
them  in  the  swamp  any  time  o'  night,  and  an  ugly  noise  they 
makes  all  night  long,  but  nobody  thinks  o'  minding  them.  They 
troubles  nobody,  and  sometimes,  when  there's  going  to  be  a  death 
in  the  family,  the  white  owls  comes  into  the  bedroom,  and  they 
won't  drive  'em  out,  for  you  see  it's  no  use ;  the  sick  body  will  die 
after  that,  whether  they  drive  the  owl  off  or  no." 

""  Yes,  yes — true ;"  said  Singleton  musingly,  while  watchin^ 
the  other's  countenance  with  a  circumspect  regard.  He  saw  that 
the  countryman  was  not  the  man  he  expected,  but  even  with  this 
discovery  there  had  grown  other  suspicions  as  to  his  real  character, 
the  more  particularly  as  he  perceived  how  disquieted  the  examina 
tion  and  restraint  had  made  him.  After  a  moment's  pause,  he 
proceeded  to  put  a  more  direct  inquiry. 

"  Where  do  you  live  upon  the  Santee  ?" 

"  Well,  now,  stranger,  I  don't  know  if  you'll  know  the  place 
when  I  tell  you,  seeing  it's  a  little  out  of  the  way  of  the  settlement ; 
but  I  live  close  upon  the  left  hand  fork  of  the  White  Oak  Branch, 
a  leetle  above  the  road  that  runs  to  Williamsburg.  T.corue  down 
that  road  when  I  crossed  the  Santee." 

"  And  where  did  you  cross  the  Santee  !" 

"  At  Vance's  ferry  : — I  'spose  you  know  where  that  is  f" 

"  I  do ;  but  why  did  you  not  cross  at  Nelson's — why  go  out  (it 
your  way  to  Vance's  ?" 


CKOSS-EXAM1NAT10X.  251 

The  countryman  stammered,  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  while 
he  replied,  his  eye  sank  beneath  the  penetrating  glance  of  Single 
ton. 

"Well,  stranger,  to  say  truth,  'twas  beca'se  I  feared  to  come  bv 
Nelson's  ;  I  was  afeard  of  the  inimy  ?" 

"  And  whom  do  you  call  the  enemy  ?" 

"  Them  that's  not  a  friend  to  me  and  my  friends ;  them's  my 
iuimies,  stranger,  and  I  reckon  them's  your  inimies  too." 

'  Perhaps  so ;  but  I  must  first  know  who  they  are,  before  I  can 
*ay.  Speak  out,  my  good  fellow,  and  let  your  answers  be  a  little 
more  to  the  point,  if  you  please." 

The  mass  of  tobacco,  in  the  fellow's  jaws,  performed  a  more 
rapid  revolution  before  the  man  replied ;  and  he  then  did  so  only 
as  he  saw  the  hand  of  Singleton  upon  the  pistol  in  his  belt. 

"  Well,  stranger,  if  I  must,  1  must :  so,  by  the  inimy  I  means 
the  rebels ;  them  that  aint  friendly  to  the  king's  government — them's 
the  inimy ;  and  there  was  plenty  to  spare  of  them  at  the  nighest 
track.  The  river  swamp  at  Nelson's  was  chock  full  of  Marion's 
men,  and  there  was  no  passing  ;  so  I  took  fhe  road  across,  down 
by  Wright's  Bluflf,  that  lets  you  into  the  Vance's  ferry  track, 
and—" 

"  You  stopped  at  Watson's  ?  * 

Singleton  put  the  question  affirmatively,  and  the  other  looked 
surprised;  the  tobacco  was  about  to  be  revolved  from  the  one  jaw 
to  the  opposite  side,  as  had  been  the  case  at  almost  every  interval 
made  between  his  sentences,  when,  quick  as  lightning,  and  with  a 
grasp  of  steel,  Singleton  seized  him  by  the  throat.  The  fellow 
strove  to  slip  away,  but  never  did  finger  more  tenaciously  gripe  the 
throat  of  an  enemy.  The  partisan  was  a  man  of  immense  strength, 
and  the  stranger  was  short  and  small.  His  powers  were  far  inferior. 
He  strove  to  struggle,  and  laboured,  but  in  vain,  to  speak.  The 
fingers  were  too  closely  compressed  ;  and,  still  maintaining  his  hold 
with  more  tenacity  than  ever,  the  assailant  bore  him  down  to 
earth,  and  with  his  knee  fixed  firmly  upon  his  breast,  in  spite  of 

"  At  thnt  time  one  of  the  chain  of  military  post*  which  the  Britub  had 
e*t*bliihed  throughout  tiie  country. 


252  THE   PARTISAN. 

«very  effort  for  release  by  the  man  beneath  him,  he  choked  hira 
until  his  tongue  hung  out  upon  his  cheek,  and  his  jaws  were  suffi 
ciently  distended  to  enable  him  to  secure  the  game  for  which  ha 
toiled  so  desperately.  Turning  the  bearer  of  despatches — for  the 
prisoner  was  such — upon  his  side,  the  silver  bullet  which  contained 
them  rolled  forth  upon  the  grass,  and  in  a  moment  after  was  securod 
by  the  ready  hands  of  Lance  Frampton. 


<s  CHAPTER    XXIII. 

"Ye  blight  the  tense  when  ye  do  wound  lk«  atari — 
Reason  u  feeling's  best  and  bom  ally, 
And  suffer*  with  her  kindred." 

*  STIR  not — move  a  foot,  and  you  die !" 

Such  were  the  brief  words  of  Singleton,  as,  with  foot  upon  his  breast. 
he  kept  the  bearer  of  despatches  prostrate  upon  the  earth.  The  man 
saw  the  peremptory  look,  the  ready  pistol,  and  he  doubted  not  that 
the  words  were  sternly  earnest.  His  struggles  ceased  with  the  com 
mand  ;  and  the  partisan  handing  his  cocked  pistol  to  the  attentive 
boy  Frampton,  proceeded  to  examine  the  prize  which  he  had  gained. 
The  screw  bullet  soon  yielded  up  its  trust,  and  the  intelligence  was 
important.  The  courier  showed  symptoms  of  disquiet,  and  the  foot 
of  his  conqueror  was  pressed,  in  consequence,  more  firmly  upon  his 
bosom. 

"  Shoot  him  if  he  stirs,"  said  Singleton  to  the  boy,  who  looked  his 
readiness  to  obey  the  command. 

The  former  then  quietly  perused  the  cramped  document  which  the 
bullet  had  contained. 

Its  contents  were  valuable,  and  greatly  assisted  our  hero  in  his 
own  progress.  Though  from  an  enemy,  it  contained  desirable  intel 
ligence  ;  and,  taken  in  connexion  with  the  verbal  narrative  which  the 
courier  had  given  of  the  presence  of  Marion's  men  on  the  Santee,  it 
at  'once  determined  Singleton  to  make  an  early  movement  in  that 
quarter.  The  despatch  was  from  Lord  Rawdon,  in  command  at 
Cumdeii,  to  Earl  Cornwallis  at  Charleston.  It  claimed  the  immedi 
ate  attendance  of  the  commander-in-chief  in  Camden,  to  quell  dis 
contents,  and  prepare  for  the  enemy — announcing  the  approach  of 
Gates  with  a  formidable  army  of  seven  thousand  men.  This  wa» 
the  alleged  force  of  the  continentals ; — very  greatly  exaggerated 
bevond  t!;r;  tni'.h,  but  at  (his  time  confidently  beliered  and  insisted 
11* 


254  THE     PARTISAN 

upon  by  botli  parties  in  the  sfato.  The  express  contained,  in  addition 
1.0  this  highly  interesting  matter,  the  heads  of  other  subjects  not 
less  interesting  to  the  partisan,  and  scarcely  less  important  to  the 
cause.  It  described,  in  brief,  numerous  risings  in  every  quarter ; 
the  defection  of  the  militia  en  masse,  under  Lyle,  who  had  carried 
them  over  to  Sumter ;  the  union  of  Sumter  with  the  Waxhaw  whigs; 
and  the  affairs  on  the  Catawba,  at  Williains's,  and  the  Rocky  Mount : 
in  all  of  which  the  "  Game  Cock  "  had  handled  the  enemy  severely. 
The  despatch  betrayed  great  anxiety,  and  its  contents  were  of  the 
most  stimulating  tendency  to  Singleton.  It  now  impressed  upon 
him  the  necessity  of  that  early  movement  to  join  with  Marion  which 
he  had  already  contemplated. 

'•  "i  ou  may  rise,  sir,"  said  the  partisan,  moving  his  heel  from  the 
breast  of  the  courier,  who  had  lain  quietly  enough  but  uncomfortably 
tinder  it. 

"  You  may  rise,  but  you  are  my  prisoner — no  words,  but  prepare 
to  submit.  See  to  your  animal — make  no  effort  to  fly,  or  f  shoot 
you  down  on  the  instant." 

The  man  rose  tamely  enough,  but  sullenly.  After  a  few  momenta 
he  found  his  speech,  which  was  now  more  agreeable  and  less  broken 
than  when  the  bullet  was  revolving  to  and  fro  in  his  jaws. 

"  Well,  now,  captain,  this  is  mighty  hard,  I  do  think.  You  won't 
keep  me,  I  reckon,  seeing  I'm  no  fighting  man,  and  haint  got  any 
we'pons.  I'm  a  non-combatant,  so  I  am,  and  I  aint  free  to  be  taken 
prisoner.  It's  agin  the  laws,  I  reckon." 

"  Indeed  !  but  we'll  see.     Mount,  sir,  and  no  talking." 

"  Well,  it's  a  tough  business,  and  I  do  think,  after  all,  that  it's  only 
joking  with  me  you  are — you're  two  good  loyalists,  now,  I'm  cer 
tain." 

"  You  mistake,  sir,  I'm  an  American — one  of  Marion's  men,  ami 
no  traitor.  To  horse,  and  no  more  of  this — no  trifling." 

"God  help  me,  cappin,  but  you're  not  in  airnest,  sure ?  It's  no 
•mall  difficulty;  now,  this  express,  and  it's  a  matter  to  be  well  paid 
for ;  and  if  so  be  you  are,  for  certain,  one  of  Marion's  men,  you 
mought  let' n  have  a  free  pass  up,  for  a  smart  chance  of  the  guineas. 
Afore  God,  cappin,  if  you'll  only  clear  the  road  you  shall  have  ou« 
half—" 


IN    CAMP.  255 

The  pistol  was  at  his  head. 

"  Another  word,  scoundrel,  and  I  send  the  bullet  through  your 
skull.  Mount  quickly — quickly  !" 

With  the  back  of  his  hand  he  smote  the  tovy  upou  his  mouth  as 
he  spoke,  and  the  fire  of  insulted  patriotism  flashed  from  his  eye, 
with  a  threatening  brightness  that  silenced  at  once,  and  most 
effectually,  all  farther  solicitations  from  the  bearer  of  despatches. 
Reluctantly,  but  without  farther  pause,  he  got  into  saddle,  taking 
the  place  assigned  him  by  his  captor,  between  himself  and  the  boy. 
In  this  manner  they  took  their  way  to  the  Cypress  Swamp,  and  it, 
was  not  long  before  they  were,  all  three,  lodged  in  its  safe  and  deep 
recesses. 

There  we  find  our  almost  forgotten  friends,  the  sentimental  gour 
mand,  the  philosophic  Porgy,  and  the  attenuated  naturalist, 
Doctor  Oakenburg ;  the  one  about  to  engage  in  his  favourite  voca 
tion,  and  hurrying  the  evening  meal ;  the  other  sublimely  employed 
in  stuffing  with  moss  the  skin  of  a  monstrous  "  coachwhip,"  which, 
to  his  great  delight,  the  morning  before,  he  had  been  successful 
enough  to  take  with  a  crotch  stick,  and  to  kill  wrthout  bruising. 
Carefully  skinned,  and  dried  in  the  shade,  the  rich  colours  and 
glossy  glaze  of  the  reptile  had  been  well  preserved,  and  now  care 
fully  filled  out  with  the  soft  and  pliant  moss,  as  it  lay  across  the 
doctor's  lap,  it  wore  to  the  eye  of  Singleton  a  very  life-like  appear 
ance.  The  two  came  forward  to  meet  and  make  the  acquaintance 
of  the  partisan,  whom  before  they  had  not  seen.  Porgy  was  highly 
delighted,  for,  like  most  fat  men,  he  liked  company,  and  preferred 
always  the  presence  of  a  number. 

"  There's  no  eating  alone,"  he  would  say — "  give  me  enough  for 
a  large  table,  and  a  full  company  round  it :  I  can  then  enjoy 
myself." 

His  reception  of  Singleton  partook  of  this  spirit. 

"  Major  Singleton,  I  rejoice  to  see  you ;  just  now  particularly,  a» 
our  supper,  such  as  it  is,  is  almost  at  hand.  No  great  variety,  sir — 
nothing  much  to  choose  from — but  what  of  that,  sir?  There'i 
enough,  and  what  there  is,  is  good  --the  very  best.  Tom,  there — 
our  cook,  sir,  he  will  make  the  very  best  of  it — broils  ham  the  best 
of  any  negro  in  the  southern  coui.try,  and  his  hoe-oake,  air,  is  abso- 


266  THE    PARTISAN. 

lutely  perfection.  He  does  turn  a  griddle  with  a  dexterity  that  is  re 
markable.  But  you  shall  see — you  shall  see  for  yourself.  Here,  Tom  !M 

And  rolling  up  his  sleeves,  he  took  the  subject  of  his  eulogy 
aside,  and  a  moment  after  the  latter  was  seen  piling  his  brands 
and  adjusting  a  rude  iron  fabric  over  the  coals,  while  the  epicure, 
with  the  most  hearty  good-will  for  the  labour,  busily  sliced  off 
sundry  huge  collops  from  the  convenient  shoulder  of  bacon  that 
hung  suspended  from  a  contiguous  tree. 

The  labours  of  Porgy  were  scarcely  congenial  either  with  the 
mood  of  Singleton  or  the  quiet  loveliness  of  the  scene.  Evening 
was  fast  coming  on — all  the  swamp  was  in  a  deep  shadow,  save 
where,  like  a  wandering  but  pure  spirit,  a  rose-like  effusion,  the 
last  dying  but  lovely  glance  from  the  descending  sun,  rested  flicker- 
ingly  upon  the  top  of  one  of  the  tallest  pines  above  them.  A  space 
between  the  trees,  opening  to  the  heavens  in  one  little  spot  alone, 
showed  them  a  sprinkling  of  fleecy  white  clouds,  sleeping  quietly 
under  the  sky,  their  western  edges  partaking  slightly  of  the  same 
last  parting  glance  of  the  sinking  orb.  A  slight  breeze  stirred 
fitfully  among'  the  branches ;  and  the  occasional  chirp  of  the 
nimble  sparrow,  as  it  hopped  along  on  the  edge  of  the  island,  was 
the  only  sound,  other  than  that  made  by  the  hissing  fire,  and  the  occa 
sional  voice  of  Porgy,  which  came  to  the  ears  of  Singleton.  lie 
threw  himself  upon  the  green  bank,  under  a  tree,  on  the  opposite 
side  of  which  the  boy  Lance  had  already  placed  himself,  a  little 
behind  him.  Suddenly,  the  boy  started  to  his  feet.  The  wild, 
unearthly  laugh  of  his  father,  that  eldritch  scream  which  chilled  to 
the  very  bones  of  the  hearer,  was  heard  on  the  skirts  of  the  island. 
Looking  to  the  quarter  whence  the  cry  proceeded,  they  beheld  the 
huge  figure  of  the  elder  Frampton  peering  from  behind  a  tree — his 
eyes  staring  forth  vacantly  upon  them,  while  his  hands  were  uplifted 
to  a  Stretching  branch  above  him,  which  he  grasped  firmly.  lie 
laughod  repeatedly,  and  Singleton  at  length  arose,  beckoned  and 
called  to  him.  But  he  gave  no  heed  to  the  call,  and  when  the 
latter  offered  to  approach  him,  the  maniac  moved  away  rapidly, 
with  another  eldritch  laugh,  that  seemed  to  mock  pursuit.  At  thia 
moment  the  boy  came  up  in  sight  of  his  father,  and  the  wild  man 
teemed  to  recognise  his  son. 


FATHER   AND   SON.  257 

"  He  will  come  now,  sir,"  said  Lance  to  Major  Singleton  ;  "  he 
will  come  now,  sir :  but  we  must  not  seem  to  urge  or  to  watch 
him." 

They  fell  back  accordingly,  took  their  old  places  along  the  bank, 
and  awaited  the  result  of  their  experiment.  As  the  boy  had 
predicted,  the  maniac  in  a  few  moments  after  was  beside  them. 
He  came  forward  with  a  bounding  motion,  as  if  now  only  satisfied 
with  an  inordinate  extreme  of  action,  corresponding  to  the  sleep 
less  impulse  and  the  fierce  fever  preying  upon  his  mind.  Without 
a  word,  but  with  a  perpetually  glancing  movement  of  the  eye, 
which  seemed  to  take  in  all  objects  around,  he  squatted  down 
quietly  beside  his  son.  He  stared  for  an  instant  curiously  into  the 
boy's  eyes,  then  extending  his  hand,  his  fingers  wandered  uncon 
sciously  in  his  long  black  hair.  The  latter,  all  the  time,  with  a 
proper  caution,  arising  from  his  previous  intimacy  with  his  father's 
habits,  took  care  neither  to  move  nor  speak.  He  sat  patiently, 
unmoved,  while  the  fingei«  of  the  maniac  played  witfi  his  hair, 
lifted  curl  after  curl  with  affectionate  minuteness,  and  wound  par 
ticular  locks  about  his  finger.  Then  he  stroked  down,  once  or 
twice,  the  thick  volumes  of  hair  together;  and  at  length,  laughing 
again  more  wildly  than  ever,  he  withdrew  his  hand  entirely,  and 
turning  his  face  from  the  two,  his  eyes  became  fixed  with  a  strange 
intensity  upon  the  extended  form  of  the  tory  whom  Singleton  had 
taken,  and  who  now  lay  tied  beneath  a  tree  at  a  little  distance. 
Soon  the  maniac  slowly  rose  and  moved  towards  the  captive — 
walked  all  around  and  examined  him  in  every  particular;  the 
latter  all  the  while,  with  no  little  anxiety,  turned  his  glance  in  every 
quarter,  following  the  movement  of  the  observer.  The  fingers  of 
the  maniac  kept  a  motion  as  restless  as  his  person — now  grasping, 
and  now  withdraw  n  from,  the  handle  of  the  unsheathed  knife  that 
was  stuck  in  the  folds  of  a  thick  red  handkerchief,  ragged  and 
soiled,  which  was  strapped  about  his€  waist.  At  length,  leaving 
the  object  of  his  inspection,  he  approached  Singleton,  and,  with 
something  more  of  coherence  than  usual,  and  a  singularly  calm 
expression,  he  proposed  an  inquiry  about  the  person  whose  presence 
appeared  so  much  to  trouble  him. 

"  He  is  not  a  red-coat — not  a  dragoon  F 


258  THE   PARTISAN. 

"  No ;  a  tory,  but  a  prisoner.  He  is  a  bearer  of  dispatches-  a 
non-combatant." 

The  reply  of  Singleton,  which  was  immediately  made  to  the 
maniac,  brought  forward  another  party  in  the  person  of  Doctoi 
Oakenburg,  who  now — haying  first,  with  the  utmost  tenderness, 
hung  his  snake  over  a  limb  above  him — joined  the  group. 

"A  prisoner,  and  yet  a  non-combatant,  Major  Singleton?  Sir, 
oblige  me,  and  explain.  Is  that  possible? — have  I  not  heard  im 
perfectly?  I  too,  sir,  am  a  non-combatant,  sir ;  that  was'undiT- 
stood,  sir,  when  Master  Humphries  first  spoke  to  me  in  this  beh:ili'. 
My  engagements,  sir,  required  no  risk  at  my  hands,  and  promised 
me  perfect  safety." 

"  Is  he  not  safe  enough  ?"  was  the  calm  inquiry  of  Singleton,  as, 
with  a  smile,  he  pointed  to  the  corded  courier,  and  thus  answered 
the  doctor's  question.  Just  at  his  ears,  in  the  same  moment,  the 
maniac,  who,  unperceived  by  the  doctor,  had  stolen  close  behind 
him,  now  lettered  one  of  his  most  appalling  screams  of  laughter  ; 
and  the  non-combatant  did  not  seek  to  disguise  the  apprehensions 
which  prompted  him  to  a  hasty  retreat  in  the  rear  of  Singleton.  The 
partisan  turned  to  him,  and  changing  his  topic  somewhat,  inquired — 

"  You  are  the  doctor,  sir  ?     Doctor — 

"  Oakenburg,  sir ;  of  an  old  German  family  of  high  descent,  and 
without  stain  of  blood.  They  came  over,  sir,  with  the  Elector." 

In  a  whisper,  Singleton  inquired  if  his  skill  could  reach  the  case 
of  Frampton  ;  but  the  suggestion  was  productive  of  quite  too  much 
alarm  in  the  mind  of  the  adventurer.  He  seemed  nowise  desirous 
of  martyrdom  in  the  prosecution  of  the  healing  art ;  and,  when 
he  found  his  tongue,  in  reply  to  the  demand  of  Singleton,  he  gave 
his  opinion  in  a  half-unintelligible  jargon,  that  the  case  was  con 
firmed  and  hopeless.-  The  savage,  in  the  meanwhile,  had  drawn 
ni^her  to  his  son,  one  of  whose  hands  he  had  taken  into  his  own. 

o 

But  he  said  nothing  all  the  while;  and  at  length,  having  made  all 
arrangement  for  the  evening  repast,  the  provident  Porgy  canvi 
forward,  with  the  lofty  condescension  of  a  host  accustomed  to 
entertain  with  princely  bounty,  and  announced  things  in  readiness. 
Singleton  then  spoke  to  the  maniac,  and  endeavoured  to  persuade 
him  to  the  log  on  which  the  victuals  had  been  spread,  and 


259 

around  which  the  party  had  now  gathered  ;  but  his  application 
was  entirely  unheeded. 

"He  won't  mind  all  you  can  say  to  him,  rmijor;  we  know  him, 
for  he's  been  several  times  to  eat  with  us;  that's  the  way  with  the 
creature.  But  put  the  meat  before  him,  and  his  understanding 
comes  back  in  a  moment.  He  knows  very  well  what  to  do  with  it. 
All,  Providence  has  wisely  ordained,  major,  that  we  shall  only  lose 
l.lii!  knowledge  of  what's  good  for  the  stomach  the  last  of  all.  Wo 
can  forgot  the  loss  of  fortune,  sir,  of  the  fine  house,  and  goodly 
plate,  and  pleasant  tendance — we  may  even  forget  the  quality  and 
the  faces  of  our  friends ;  and,  as  for  love,  that  gets  out  of  our 
clutches,  we  don't  know  how  ;  but,  major,  I  wont  believe  that  any 
body  ever  yet  lost  his  knowledge  of  good  living.  Once  gained, 
it  holds  its  ground  well ;  it  survives  all  other  knowledge.  The 
belly,  major,  will  always  insist  upon  so  much  braiflS  karig  pre 
served  in  the  head,  as  will  maintain  unimpaired  its  own  ascend 
ency." 

As  the  gourmand  had  said,  the  meat  was  no  sooner  placed  before 
the  maniac,  than  seizing  it  ravenously  in  his  fingers,  he  tore  auJ 
devoured  it  with  a  fury  that  showed  how  long  had  been  his  previ 
ous  abstinence.  His  appetite  was  absolutely  wolfish  ;  and  while 
he  ate,  Singleton  watched  him  with  mingled  emotions  of  pity  and 
disgust.  His  garments  were  in  tatters  about  him,  torn  by  the 
thick  woods  in  which  he  had  ranged  with  as  little  scruple  as  the  wild 
Iii-Msts  whom  he  now  resembled.  His  face  had  been  scratched  with 
briers,  and  the  blood  had  congealed  along  the  seams  upon  his 
i  heek,  unremoved  and  unregarded.  His  thick,  black  hair  was 
malted  down  upon  his  forehead,  and  was  deeply  stained  with  the 
clayey  ooxe  of  the  swamp  through  which  he  had  crawled.  His 
t-\es  had  a  fiery  restlessness,  and  glared  ever  around  him  with  a 
baleful,  and  malignant  sort  of  light,  which  was  full  of  evil  omen. 
When  he  had  eaten,  he,  without  a  word,  dashed  off  from  the  place 
where  he  had  been  seated,  plunged  into  the  creek,  and  the  fainter 
and  fainter  echoes  of  his  wild  laugh  declared  his  rapid  progress 
away  into  the  thick  recesses  of  the  neighbouring  cypress.  Over 
these,  darkness  now  began  to  consolidate;  and  at  length,  impatient 
of  farther  delay  in  a  purposed  object,  Singleton  rose  from  his  place 


260  THE   PARTISAN. 

and  gave  orders  to  Lance  to  get  his  own  and  the  horee  of  his 
superior  in  readiness. 

"  Shall  we  ride  to-night,  sir  ?"  inquired  the  boy. 

"  Instantly  :  f  shall  put  you  on  a  new  duty  to-night,  Lance,  and 
hope  that  you  will  perform  it  well.  Speed  now  with  the  horses, 
for  the  dark  gathers." 

The  bosom  of  the  youth  thrilled  and  throbbed  with  a  new  emo 
tion  of  pleasure,  as  he  heard  the  promise,  and  the  feeling  gave 
a  degree  of  elasticity  to  his  movement,  which  enabled  him  to  place 
the  steed  before  his  leader  instantaneously. 

Singleton  sprang  the  pan  of  his  pistols,  renewed  the  priming, 
gave  several  orders  touching  the  prisoner,  and  some  parting 
directions  ;  then  leaping  into  saddle,  bade  Lancelot  find  the  track. 
Porgy  waved  a  blazing  torch  over  the  creek,  giving  them  a  brief 
light  at  starting,  and  the  two  were  soon  plunging  through  the 
gloomy  pathway,  if  by  any  stretch  of  courtesy  it  may  be  called  a 
pathway,  and  taking  a  direction  which  Singleton  thought  most 
likely  to  give  them  a  meeting  with  the  now  approaching  troop 
acder  the  command  of  Humphries. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

"  Th«  g»uie  it  lust,  and  needless  to  pursue, 

Hruugh  such  a  waite,  ID  such  a  night  u  thia." 

THE  course  of  Singleton  lay  for  "  the  Oaks."  He  was  about  to 
pay  a  parting  visit,  and  to  seek,  if  possible,  to  persuade  his  undo 
to  set  forth  with  him  for  the  Santee,  with  whatever  force  might 
have  been  procured  by  him  from  among  his  neighbours.  This  was, 
indeed,  his  only  opportunity.  He  had  arrested  one  courier,  it  it 
true ;  but  others  must  succeed  in  giving  to  Cornwallis  the  impor 
tant  intelligence  which,  for  the  present,  he  had  stayed.  The  move 
ment  of  Coruwallis  towards  Camden,  in  compliance  with  the  neces 
sity  of  the  case,  and  Rawdon's  solicitations,  would  have  the  effect 
of  breaking  up  communication  throughout  the  intervening  country, 
and  making  any  effort  to  pass  it  dangerous  to  the  partisan.  This 
was  a  consideration  which  he  necessarily  concluded  must  influence 
Colonel  Walton's  conduct ;  and  the  opportunity  of  passing  at  Nel 
son's,  now  filled  with  Marion's  men,  was  one  not  to  be  disregarded. 
His  hopes  were,  that  his  uncle  would  carry  with  him  a  decent 
number  of  sturdy  fellows  into  the  camp  of  the  continentals.  Nor 
was  this  hope  an  unreasonable  one.  Colonel  Walton,  though  slow 
in  taking  up  the  cause  of  his  country,  had,  at  last,  set  heartily  about 
it.  By  his  earnestness  and  industry,  since  his  determination  had 
been  made  to  resume  his  arms,  he  strove  to  appease  his  consci 
ence,  and  do  away  with  any  reproach  that  might  have  been  due  to 
his  past  forbearance.  He  had  made  some  progress  with  his  recruits, 
and  was  night  and  day  indefatigable.  He  rode  through  his  neigh 
bourhood  among  all  sorts  of  people,  and  played  his  game  with  skill 
and  coolness.  He  knew  that  Proctor  watched  him,  and  he  was 
cvrcumspect  accordingly.  But,  though  cautious,  he  did  not  relax. 
In  the  little  interval  which  followed  his  resolve  to  come  out,  and 
we  moment  under  our  view,  he  liad  secured  some  twenty  pledges 


262  TFIK  PAHTISA.V. 

— pledges  of  stout,  honest  woodsmen, — men  who  had  been  chaied  by 
the  insolence  of  their  oppression,  borne  down  by  wrongs,  and  were 
impatient  for  redress.  He  was  now,  even  while  Singleton  rode 
with  his  attendant  towards  the  river,  engaged  in  close  council  with 
a  little  band  at  Johnson's  house,  on  Cane  Acre,  to  whom  he  was 
successfully  urging  such  considerations  as  did  not  fail,  iu  the  end, 
(o  effect  the  object  he  desired.  Let  us  there  leave  him,  for  the 
present,  arid  return  to  the  camp  at  Bacon's  Bridge. 

With  the  close  of  day,  Humphries  made  his  preparations  for 
moving  to  the  Cypress  in  obedience  to  the  command  of  Singleton. 
The  horses  were  saddled  quickly,  the  arms  prepared,  the  surplus 
baggage  put  upon  pack-horses,  the  prisoners  were  mounted,  am 
all  appearance  of  a  camp  broken  up  in  that  quarter.  The  prison 
ers  were  placed  under  the  immediate  surveillance  of  Davis,  who 
brought  up  the  rear  of  the  troop. 

The  custody  of  Hastings  placed  the  rivals  in  a  novel  sort  of 
relationship  to  one  another ;  and  the  sturdy  Goose  Creeker  did  not. 
feel  less  of  his  bitterness  of  spirit  because  he  was  compelled  to 
suppress  its  utterai.ce.  His  old  love  for  Bella  Humphries  grew 
active  with  the  feeling  of  jealousy  which  the  presence  of  the  ser 
geant  necessarily  provoked.  He  really  loved  the  girl,  and  his  hate 
for  the  dragoon  was,  in  consequence,  entirely  without  qualification. 
He  felt  that  he  was  getting  angry,  as,  while  arranging  the  prisoners, 
his  eye  continually  fell  upon  Hastings.  But  he  knew  and  respected 
the  situation  of  the  enemy  too  much  to  give  utterance  to  his  feel 
ings  at  large;  feelings  which,  at  the  same  time,  were  sufficiently 
evident  to  the  eye  of  the  dragoon. 

He,  on  the  other  hand,  conscious  of  his  danger,  and  apprehensive 
of  punishment  corresponding  to  the  outrageous  character  of  his 
last  offence,  strove  to  be  very  conciliatory,  and  addressed  some 
soothing  and  gracious  speech  to  his  rival,  as  the  latter  approached 
him;  but  the  other  was  not  to  be  soothed  in  this' fashion.  A 
glance  of  contempt,  mingled  with  hate,  was  the  only  response 
given  to  the  obsequious  remark  of  Hastings  ;  and,  in  a  few  minutes 
after,  when  he  could  do  so  unobserved,  Davis  came  back  to  where 
his  prisoner  stood,  and  in  a  low  tone  thus  addressed  him — 

"Look  ye,  Sergeant  Hastings,  there's  no  love  lost   between  IMJ, 


SWAMP   PROGRESS.  263 

and  it's  no  use  for  you  to  make  sweet  speeches.  You're  in  no  fix 
to  help  yourself  now  ;  but  I've  got  sich  a  grudge  agin  you,  that 
must  be  satisfied,  and  I'll  be  on  the  look-out,  though  it's  agin  orders, 
to  work  a  clear  way  for  you  out  of  this  hobble,  if  so  be  you'll 
only  promise  to  give  me  satisfaction  when  I've  done  so.  Say  the 
word  now  that  you  will  cross  swords  with  me,  if  I  help  you  to  a 
clear  track,  and  here's  my  hand  upon  it,  that  you  shall  have  a  fair 
fight  and  free  passage." 

"  Well— but,  Davis,  my  friend—" 

"  No  friend,  if  you  please.  I'm  your  deadly  enemy,  and  if  so 
be  I  can,  as  God  shall  help  me,  I'll  cut  your  heart  out  of  your 
hide,  or  there's  no  snakes." 

"  Well,  well — but  I've  no  weapon." 

"  I'll  bring  you  one — only  say  the  word,"  was  the  pertinacious 
and  quick  reply.  Finding  there  was  no  escape,  the  sergeant  readily 
enough  closed  with  the  terms,  and  Davis  then  promised  to  seek 
him  out  in  the  swamp,  conduct  him  to  a  clear  ground,  and  make 
the  terms  of  fight  equal  between  them.  This  done,  he  turned  away 
from  the  prisoner  with  something  more  of  light-heartedness  than 
usual,  as  he  anticipated  the  pleasure  of  that  strife  with  his  enemy 
which  promised  to  revenge  him  for  so  many  wrongs. 

The  prisoners  were  soon  all  mounted,  Goggle  along  with  them, 
and  so  disposed  as  to  ride  between  alternate  files  of  the  troopers.  Iu 
this  order  they  set  forth  for  the  recesses  of  the  swamp,  and  a  route 
was  chosen  by  Humphries  which  enabled  him  to  keep  away  from 
all  beaten  roads  ;  the  necessity  still  existing,  while  in  the  neighbour 
hood  of  a  superior  force,  for  the  utmost  caution,  as  the  objects  of 
the  partisan  required  security  from  observation  even  in  preference 
to  any  successes  which  so  small  a  party  might  obtain. 

It  was  not  long  before  they  began  to  enter  the  swamp,  and  to 
meet  with  its  obstructions.  The  twilight  gradually  ceased  to  glim 
mer,  the  trees  crowded  more  closely  on  the  path,  and  the  shades 
stalking  about  them  incessantly  grew  incorporated  into  huge  masses, 
from  which  the  trees  themselves  were  scarce  distinguishable.  Then 
came  the  varieties  of  the  swamp ;  the  black  and  stagnant  puddle, 
the  slimy  ooze,  the  decayed  and  prostrate  tree,  and  the  hanging 
vijxe  swinging  across  the  route.  The  night  came  down  shortly 


2<>J  THE    PARTISAN. 

after  thoy  had  penetrated  the  morass,  and,  though  a  clear  starlight 
evening,  it  was  only  now  and  then  that  glimpses  could  be  obtained 
of  the  pale  and  melancholy  watchers  suddenly  peering  down  into 
the  openings  of  the  trees  overhead. 

A  closer  order  of  march  was  now  imposed  upon  the  troop,  a*, 
carefully  leading  the  way,  Humphries  guided  them  through  one 
little  creek,  and  along  the  banks  of  another.  The  earth  between 
the  two  parallel  waters  lay  tolerably  high,  and  formed  a  defile,  as 
it  were,  through  which  they  continued  to  move  with  no  other 
obstructions  than  such  as  were  presented  by  the  occasional  morasses 
formed  in  the  curves  of  the  creek,  and  the  close  trees,  that  suffered 
them  to  move  only  in  single  file.  Once  fairly  in  the  swamp,  Hum 
phries  had  a  torch  lighted  and  carried  by  a  trooper  in  front  with 
himself.  This  serving  sufficiently  to  pick  the  path,  though  yield 
ing  no  assistance  to  those  who  came  after,  they  were  compelled 
simply  to  keep  close,  and  follow  the  leader. 

The  lieutenant  kept  unrelaxing  watch  during  all  this  period,  and 
the  utmost  order  was  observed  during  the  progress.  His  ear  was 
keenly  observant  of  every  sound  that  reached  his  ears,  though 
deceived  by  none  of  them.  He  was  skilled  in  woodcraft,  and  knew 
wdl  how  to  decoy  the  bird,  and  to  deceive  the  reptile,  by  his  vari 
ous  imitations.  At  this  time,  however,  he  permitted  himself  no 
exercise  of  his  powers  in  this  respect;  but  watchful  in  the  highest 
degree,  he  gave  his  orders  briefly,  in  a  low  tone,  and  without  the 
employment  of  unnecessary  words. 

At  length  the  defile  narrowed,  the  undergrowth  thickened  about 
the  trees  in  luxuriant  vegetation,  and  so  dark  was  the  place  that  the 
figure  of  each  individual  horse  could  only  be  made  out  by  the 
rider  immediately  behind  it.  To  the  instinct  and  better  vision  of 
the  animals  themselves  the  movement  was  in  great  part  left ; 
the  trooper  and  his  prisoner,  alike,  only  taking  care  not,  to  fall  far 
behind  the  steed  in  advance.  This  being  the  case,  an<l  heedful  of 
his  charge — while 'Davis  was  directed  closely  to  watch  and  bring 
up  the  rear — Humphries  stationed  himself  at  the  mouth  of  the  defile, 
having  first  led  the  way  through  which  they  were  yet  to  pass. 
There,  with  uplifted  torch,  he  numbered  one  by  one  the  steeds  of 
all  that  came  through  and  passed  before  him ;  and  in  Urn  way 


LE'S  GIFTS.  265 

with  a  precaution  which  lie  considered  the  most  complete  that 
could  be  adopted,  confidently  thought  that  there  could  be  oo  risk 
c  losing  any  of  his  prisoners.  And,  indeed,  with  the  ordinary 
pr'soner,  the  man  only  skilled  to  fight  bulldog  fashion,  without 
ingenuity,  and  solely  relying  upon  his  teeth,  the  precaution  would 
have  been  enough. 

But  Goggle  was  not  of  this  description,  lie  had  the  gift,  along 
with  Indian  blood,  of  Indian  subtlety.  He  had  kept  his  course 
quietly  and  patiently  with  the  rest,  and  there  was^  no  gloom,  no 
dulness,  no  flagging  of  spirits  about  him.  All  was  coolness  in  his 
mood,  and  he  knew  his  ground.  He  had  heard  the  orders  of 
Humphries,  readily  understood  the  route,  and  prepared  to  avail 
himself  of  circumstances  as  they  might  occur  in  his  favour.  There 
was  a  cry  which  the  troops  were  heard  to  utter  successively,  as 
they  advanced  through  a  certain  point  of  the  defile,  the  meaning 
of  which  he  clearly  enough  understood.  A  ragged  pine  had  thrust 
an  arm  directly  over  the  path,  and  so  low  as  to  endanger  the 
hend  of  a  tall  man  moving  along  too  erectly.  The  cry  of  each 
rider,  therefore1,  as  he  passed  under  it,  was  to  his  immediate  fol 
lower — 

"  Stoop  low  ! — heads  down  !" 

Goggle  heard  this  cry  before  he  reached  the  obstruction.  He 
coolly  prepared  himself  for  a  little  scout  practice, — buttoned  his 
jacket  closely,  and  freed  his  feet  from  his  stirrups  as  he  proceded. 
He  did  this  without  the  slightest  precipitation  or  impatience.  In 
order  to  accustom  his  horse  to  the  relaxation  of  the  bit,  so  that  his 
movement  might  not  undergo  any  change  at  the  trying  moment, 
he  gradually  yielded  up  the  bridle,  until  the  animal  failed  entirely 
to  feel  its  restraints  upon  his  mouth  ;  then,  dropping  the  reins 
altogether  as  he  heard  the  cry  of  his  predecessor  to  ''stoop,"  instead 
of  doing  so,  he  threw  his  arms  upwards,  caught  the  overhanging 
branch  firmly  with  both  hands,  and  with  (lie  activity  of  an  ape, 
lifted  himself  fairly  out  of  the  saddle,  and  for  a  moment  swung  in 
air  The  horse  passed  from  under  him,  and,  with  his  old  habit, 
followed  the  lead  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed.  The  succeed 
ing  steed  approached,  (Joggle  gave  the  cry,  in  the  most  measured 
language  and  as  he  did  so  he  whirled  himself  over,  out  of  the 


266  THE   PARTISAN. 

trooper's  way,  upon  the  top  of  the  branch,  where  he  sat  with  all  a 
squirrel's  sense  of  security. 

Here  he  remained  in  quiet  as  the  troop  proceeded.  He  knew 
the  length  of  the  defile,  an.]  could  see  in  the  distance  the  glimmer 
ing  of  the  torch  by  which  Humphries  enumerated  the  troopers  as 
they  came  forth  from  the  avenue;  and  as  the  rear  of  the  party 
with  Davis  was  at  hand,  he  felt  secure  that  all  would  have  passed 
him  some  time  before  his  empty  saddle  would  warn  the  lieutenant 
of  his  departure. 

A  moment  after,  the  voice  of  Davis,  as  he  passed  under  the  tree 
where  the  fugitive  sat  chuckling  at  his  success,  apprised  him  of  the 
proper  time  to  commence  his  flight.  The  ground  was  free,  and 
dropping  from  his  perch,  the  fugitive  crossed  the  path,  and  took  the 
water  of  the  creek  as  soon  as  possible,  following  its  course  towards 
the  river  for  a  brief  space,  then  turning  aside  and  shrouding  him 
self,  while  still  keeping  his  onward  way,  in  a  close-set  forest  of  small 
Baplings. 

Here  he  had  scarcely  entered  when  the  alarm  was  given.  The 
vigilant  Humphries  had  discovered  the  absence  of  the  prisoner,  as 
the  untrammelled  animal  came  forth  from  the  defile.  A  confused 
shouting,  a  rush  as  of  one  or  more  in  search,  reached  the  ears  of  the 
fugitive ;  but  he  was  safe,  and  laughed  at  all  pursuit 

The  sounds  finally  died  away;  and  Goggle,  who  had  lain  quiet 
while  the  confusion  lasted,  now  resumed  his  flight.  Davis  and 
p.ome  of  the  troopers  had  dashed  back  when  the  alarm  was  given ; 
but  in  the  thick  darkness  which  shrouded  the  region,  there  was  no 
prospect  of  retaking  the  prisoner  so  long  as  he  kept  silent.  This  was 
soon  evident  to  Humphries,  and,  sore  and  chagrined,  lie  hurried  on 
the  progress  of  the  party,  swearing  vengeance  against  the  tory,  his 
hostility  to  whom  naturally  underwent  due  increase  and  animation, 
as  he  found  himself  outwitted  by  the  subtle  euemy  in  so  simple 
a  manner.  Humphries  jyot  back  to  camp  late  at  night  without  far 
ther  incident,  and  without  meeting  with  Singleton,  as  the  latter  had 
proposed.  They  had  taken  different  routes;  and  when  the  com 
mander  emerged  from  the  swamp,  lie  took  the  road  back  to  the 
bridge,  only  aceompa:iied  bv  his  youthful  protege,  lie  reached  the 
river  just  as  the  fugitive  Goggle  was  about  to  emerge  from  the 


WARFARE   OF   THE   WOODS.  267 

•warup.  The  latter  beard  at  a  distance  the  feet  of  the  horse,  and 
lay  snug  beside  the  road  as  they  passed.  The  unobstructed  star 
light  was  now  around  them,  and  he  was  enabled  to  distinguish  their 
persons.  He  conjectured  what  would  be  the  route  of  Singleton,  and 
he  now  beheld  the  opportunity  of  finding  his  reward  with  the 
British,  and  of  gaining  his  revenge  upon  one,  at  least,  of  his 
American  enemies.  Toil  and  fatigue  were  at  once  forgotten,  fear 
was  discarded  'rora  his  mind ;  and,  now,  running,  now  walking, 
with  an  Indian  pertinacity  of  spirit,  he  took  the  directest  course 
It-nding  to  Dorchester. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 


u  H«r  words  are  uo  much  music,  caught  from  hear*! 
When  clouds  are  parting,  and  the  rosy  era 
Come*  to  her  sway." 


THK  hour  was  late  when  the  Half  Breed  reached  the  village. 
'Flie  sentries  were  all  set,  and  Proctor  had  retired  for  the  night ; 
but,  aware  of  the  value  of  his  intelligence,  the  fugitive  did  not 
scruple  to  disturb  him.  He  told  his  story  at  full,  and  had  the  satis 
faction  to  find  that  he  told  it  to  a  willing  ear.  Proctor  at  once 
proceeded  to  arm  a  party,  and  heading  it  himself,  prepared  to  sur 
prise  the  rebel  partisan  in  the  quiet  dwelling  to  which  Goggle  had 
seen  him  pursuing  his  way.  The  British  major  was  the  more  will 
ing  to  move  in  this  business  now,  than  be  otherwise  might  have 
been,  as  he  had  been  troubled  with  some  doubts  whether  the  suspi 
cious  attitude  of  Colonel  Walton  had  not  already  called  for  his 
attention.  He  was  glad  of  an  opportunity,  therefore,  of  proving 
his  alacrity  in  the  cause,  and  making  amends  for  what  might 
be  construed  into  previous  neglect.  Something  of  his  stimulus  to 
present  action,  may  also,  not  unjustly,  be  ascribed  to  the  jealous  in 
stincts  which  coupled  Robert  Singleton  with  his  fair  cousin.  We  leave 
him,  with  a  little  troop  of  half  a  score,  getting  into  saddle,  and 
about  to  move  in  the  direction  of  "  The  Oaks."  Goggle  remained 
behind,  at  the  suggestion  of  Proctor,  who  needed  not  his  assistance 
farther,  and  saw  that  his  fatigued  condition  craved  for  immediate 
rest. 

I^et  us  now  return  to  Singleton  and  his  attendant.  Having 
reached  the  neighbourhood  of  "The  Oaks,"  they  took  the  back  track 
leading  to  the  river,  which  carried  them  immediately  into  the  rear 
of  the  dwelling-house.  Then1,  dismounting  nn<!  carefully  conceal 
ing  their  horses  in  the  brush,  Singleton  placed  his  pistols  in  hia 


THK    DYING    GIRL. 

bolt,  and  leaving  the  boy  in  charge  of  the  animals,  with  instructions 
to  watch  closely,  proceeded  to  the  mansion. 

Prone'  of  the  trust,  Lance  Frampton  promised  his  commander  to 
watch  well,  and  approve  himself  a  worthy  sentinel.  In  a  few  mo 
ments  the  partisan  was  once  more  treading  the  well  known  path, 
covered  with  those  grave  guardians  of  a  century,  the  spreading 
and  moss-bearded  oaks,  and  on  his  way  to  the  presence  of  thoMj 
well  beloved  beyond  all,  and  dearer  to  him  than  the  life-blood  at  his 
heart.  Many  minutes  had  not  elapsed  before  he  was  at  the  side  of 
the  frail  and  attenuated  form  of  her,  the  sister  and  the  playmate  of 
his  boyhood ;  feeble  to  prostration,  sustained  by  pillows,  and  scarcely 
able  to  turn  upon  him  those  lovely  eyes,  stilJ  bright,  and  brighten 
ing  to  the  last,  as  if  the  reluctant,  soul  had  concentrated  within  all 
its  heavenward  fires  ;  and  thence,  though  clinging  still  to  mortality, 
was  already  evolving  some  of  that  divine  light  which  it  was  so  soon 
to  be  mingled  with  for  ever. 

"  Dear,  dear  Emily !"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  my  sister,  my  sweet 
sister !" — and  his  lips  were  pressed  to  her  forehead ;  and,  though 
he  strove  hard  for  their  suppression,  the  tears  gathered  in  his  large 
sad  eyes.  Her's  were  the  only  unclouded  ones  in  the  chamber. 
On  one  side  sat  Kate  Walton,  while  his  aunt  moved  around  tho 
conch  of  the  sufferer,  heedful  of  all  her  wants.  They  too  were  in 
.ears,  and  had  evidently,  before  this,  been  weeping.  It  was  a  scene 
for  tears;  in  which  smiles  had  been  irreverent,  and  joy  an  unbecom 
ing  and  most  impious  intruder. 

Yet,  though  the  dying  girl  wept  not  herself,  and  though  her  eye 
had  in  it  that  glorious  effulgence  which  is  so  peculiarly  the  attribute 
of  the  victim  to  the  deadly  form  of  disease  under  which  she 
laboured,  yet  the  brightness  of  her  glance  was  no  rebuke  to  the 
tearfulness  of  theirs.  It  was  a  high  and  holy  brightness  ;  a  deep 
expression,  full  of  divine  speech,  and  solemnizing  even  wli'ilo 
it  brightened  with  an  aspect  not  of  the  earth.  The  light  might 
have  streamed  from  the  altar,  a  halo  from  heaven  around  the.  brow 
of  its  most  favourite  apostle. 

She  spoke  to  him  of  the  commonest  affturs  of  life  ;  yet  she  knew 
that,  death  was  busy  at  her  heart.      Whence  was   this  strength  of 
mind — this  confidence  ?     is  there,   indeed,  a  moment  before  th<* 
12 


270  THE    PARTISAN. 

hour  of  dissolution  when  the  mortal  is  vouchsafed  communion, 
a  clofee  communion  and  converse  with  its  God.  Are  there  glimpses 
of  the  future  from  which,  at  such  moments,  the  sufferer  draws  his 
hope,  his  consolation  ?  It  is,  it  must  be  so.  The  dim  confine,  the 
heavy  earth,  caunot  always  be  around  us.  The  soul  must  some 
times  employ  the  wings  of  a  divine  prescience,  and  shaking 
oft"  human  care  with  human  feeling,  forget  for  a  while  the  many 
pains,  along  with  the  humble  pleasures,  of  humanity,  and  be  only 
alive  to  the  immortality  of  the  future.  The  dark  mansions  of  the 
coming  time,  and  the  huge  and  high  barriers  which  control  it, 
must  then  be  thrown  aside ;  and  faith  and  the  pure  spirit,  in  their 
white  garments,  already  on,  must  be  suffered  to  take  a  momentary 
survey  of  the.  world  which  is  to  be  their  own. 

But  the  spirit  had  come  back  to  earth,  and  now  grew  conscious 
of  its  claims. 

"  Dear,  dear  Robert !"  she  replied,  as  she  motioned  to  be  free 
from  those  caresses  which  he  bestowed  upon  her ;  and  which, 
though  studiously  light  and  gentle,  were  yet  too  much  for  a  frame 
•piritualizing  so  fast :  "  you  are  come,  Robert,  and  with  no  ill 
news.  You  have  no  harshness  on  your  brow,  and  the  vein  is  not 
swollen  ;  and  by  this  I  know  you  have  not  been  engaged  in  any 
war  and  violence.  Is  it  not  so  ?" 

He  did  not  undeceive  her,  and  suppressed  carefully  every  allusion 
to  his  late  adventures ;  spoke  of  indifferent  things,  and  encouraged 
in  her  that  idea  of  the  national  peace,  which,  from  a  hope,  had 
already  grown  into  a  constant  thought  within  her  mind. 

"  Oh,  would  that  I  could  only  hear  of  it,  Robert,  ere  I  leare 
you  !  Could  I  know  that  you  were  safe,  all  safe,  before  I  die — you, 
dear  aunt,  and  you,  sister,  my  more  than  sister — and  you,  Robert, 
who  have  been  to  me  father  and  brother,  and  all,  so  long ;  would 
I  could  know  this,  and  I  should  die  happy — even  with  joy !  But 
death  will  have  its  sting,  I  feel,  in  this.  I  shall  go  to  peace — I  feel 
that ;  while  all  the  strifes,  and  all  the  cares,  the  wounds,  and  the 
dangers,  will  be  loft  for  you  !" 

Her  eyes  now  filled,  as  her  earthly  sorrows  were  renewed.  Her 
brother  strove  to  console  her  in  the  usual  commonplace.  Alas ! 
there  is  no  language  for  such  a  time  and  occasion,  but  the  com' 


EARTHT.Y   SORROW.  271 

men-place    and    fruitless,  and    silence    then    is    the    only    fruitful 
speech. 

"  Fear  not  for  us,  dear  Emily ;  and  let  not  our  afflictions  fit 
your  uiiud.  Be  calm  on  that  subject;  you  have  pains  aud  suffer 
ings  enough  of  your  own,  my  dear  sister,  to  keep  you  from  desiring 
any  share  in  ours." 

"  I  have  no  sufferings  now,  Robert;  I  have  long  ceased  to  haw 
sufferings  of  my  own.  Have  I  not  long  survived  the  hope  of  life  ? 
have  1  not  long  laboured  to  sustain  myself  against  the  coming  and 
the  fear  of  death  ?  God  be  praised  !  for  I  think  I  have  succeeded. 
These  were  my  afflictions  once,  and  they  are  now  over.  Yet  I 
have  sorrows  not  my  own,  and  they  are,  that  I  must  leave  you 
to  sorrows — griefs  of  an  unnatural  time,  and  horrors  that  come 
with  the  disease,  as  it  would  seem,  of  nature.  For  war  is  her  dis 
ease — her  most  pestilent  disease.  The  sharp  sword,  the  torturing 
scourge,  the  degrading  rope,  the  pining  and  the  piercing  famine — 
these  are  the  horrible  accompaniments  of  war ;  and  oh,  brother, 
soldier  as  you  are,  when  I  leave  you  to  the  dangers  of  these,  I 
carry  with  me  all  my  human  sorrows.  I  may  die,  but  my  soul 
must  bear  along  with  it  those  thousand  fears  which  belong  to  my 
sympathies  with  you." 

''  Ah,  too  considerate  of  us,  so  unworthy  such  consideration  !" 
was  the  exclamation  of  Kate  beside  her.  "  Do  not,  dear  Emily, 
oppress  yourself  by  reflections  such  as  these.  You  leave  us  to  no 
difficulties  ;  for  though  the  country  still  be  at  war,  yet  our  quar 
ter  is  free  from  its  ravages;  and  though  under  hostile  control,  it  is 
•till  quiet,  and  not  now  a  dangerous  one.  We  are  all  here  at  peace." 

'•  Why  seek  to  deceive  me,  Kate,  when  but  a  glance  at  liobert  tells 
a  different  story  ?  Look  at  the  sword  by  his  side — the  pistols  in  his 
belt,  and  say  why  they  are  there,  if  war  be  not  around  us — if  there 
be  no  occasion  for  strife,  and  if  he  is  not  exposed  to  its  dangers? 
You  cannot  persuade  me  out  of  my  senses,  though  in  this  I  am 
quite  willing  that  you  should.  Would  that  it  could  be  so  ?  I 
would  not  believe  these  truths  if  1  could  help  it." 

"  Ajid  you  need  not,  Emily,  my  sister ;  for  though  there  be  war, 
and  though  1  may  be  engaged  in  it,  yet  the  present  prospect 
w,  that  it  will  soon  be  over,  and  as  we  all  wish  it— giving  us  peau« 


272  THE   PARTISAN. 

aud  freedom  alike,  and  securing  honourable  station  for  our  country 
among  the  nations  of  the  earth.  This  last  thought,  my  Emily,  ought 
to  make  you  better  satisfied  willi  the  risks  our  people  are  compelled 
to  run." 

"  It  does  not,  brother.  I  have  not  that  vain  ambition,  which,  for 
the  sake  of  a  name,  is  content  with  the  bloodshed  and  the  misery 
of  mankind ;  and  1  hold  the  doctrine  hateful  to  one  professing  the 
Christian  faith.  How  it  may  be  upheld,  this  warfare  in  which  life 
vs  taken  as  a  worthless  thing,  and  man's  blood  shed  like  water,  for 
any  pretence,  and  with  any  object,  by  a  believer  in  the  Saviour, 
and  the  creed  which  he  taught,  I  can  never  understand." 

"  You  would  not  have  us  submit  to  wrong  and  injustice  ?" 

"  No ;  but  the  means  employed  for  resistance  should  be  justly 
proportioned  to  the  aggression.  But,  alas  for  humanity  !  the  glory 
and  the  glare  of  warfare,  under  false  notions  of  renown,  are  too 
often  sufficient,  not  only  to  conceal  the  bloodshed  and  the  horror, 
but  to  stimulate  to  undue  vengeance,  and  to  make  resistance 
premature,  and  turn  the  desire  of  justice  into  a  passion  for  revenge. 
Then,  for  the  wrong  done  by  one  captain,  all  the  captains  conspire 
to  do  greater  wrongs ;  and  the  blazing  dwelling  by  midnight,  the 
poor  woman  and  her  naked  children  escaping  from  the  flames 
to  perish  of  hunger ;  the  gibbeted  soldier  on  the  nighest  tree ; 
the  wanton  murder  of  the  shrieking  babe,  quieted  in  its  screams 
upon  the  bayonet  of  the  yelling  soldiers — these  are  the  modes 
by  which,  repairing  one  wrong,  war  does  a  thousand  greater.  Oh, 
when,  calling  things  by  their  right  names,  shall  we  discover  that 
all  the  glory  of  the  warrior  is  the  glory  of  brutality  2" 

The  picture  which  the  enthusiastic  girl  had  given  of  the  terrors 
of  war,  was  too  felicitously  just,  as  it  had  occurred  in  Carolina,  to 
be  denied  by  her  auditor ;  and  as  she  had  herself  made  the  right 
distinction  between  Avar  as  an  absolute  necessity,  forced  upon  a 
people  in  their  defence,  and  pursued  only  so  far  as  adequately 
to  obtain  the  mere  object  of  justice,  and  war  as  a  means  of  national 
or  individual  aggrandizement  or  fame,  there  was  no  legitimate 
answer  to  her  exhortation.  A  momentary  silence  ensued,  which 
was  due  to  the  exhaustion  following  her  effort  at  speech.  la 
a  little  while  .she  ng.iin  addressed  hei  brother — 


THE  SWAMP   FOX.  273 

"  And  how  long,  Robert,  do  you  stay  in  our  Q0ighbpurbood  ?" 

"But  a  few  days  more,  Emily:  T  linger  now  somewhat  over  my 
time ;  but  ray  objects  are  various  and  important." 

"And  where  then  do  you  go ? " 

"  Either  to  the  Santee  or  the  Peedee ;  wherever  there  is  a  chance 
of  finding  Colonel  Marion,  to  whose  brigade  I  am  attached." 

"And  not  so  easy  a  matter,"  said  Kate  W.»  ton,  "if  reports 
speak  truly  of  your  colonel.  He  is  here,  there,  and  everywhere, 
and  they  say  cannot  often  be  met  with  either  by  friend  or  foe,  ex 
cept  when  he  himself  pleases.  What  is  it  Colonel  Tarleton  calls 
him?" 

"  The  Swamp  Fox :  and  a  good  name,  for  certainly  he  knows 
more  of  the  navigation  of  the  thick  swamps  of  the  Santee  and 
Peedee,  than  ever  seaman  of  the  broad  ocean.  In  a  circuit  of 
five  miles  he  will  misguide  the  whole  force  of  Tarleton  tor  as  many 
days ;  then,  while  he  looks  for  him  in  one  quarter,  Marion  will  be 
cutting  up  his  foragers  or  the  tories  in  another.  He  is  fearless,  too, 
as  well  as  skilful,  and  in  the  union  of  these  qualities  he  is  more 
than  a  match,  with  an  equal  force,  for  any  score  of  the  captains 
they  can  send  against  him." 

As  the  major  spoke  with  that  warm  enthusiasm  of  his  com 
mander,  which  distinguished  the  men  of  Marion  generally,  an 
audible  sigh  from  his  sister  recalled  him  to  his  consideration,  and 
he  turned  to  her  with  some  observation  on  an  unimportant  sub 
ject.  She  did  not  seem  to  heed  what  he  said,  but,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  asked,  rather  abruptly,  if  he  should  not  move  first  for  the 
Santee. 

"  I  think  so,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  the  probability  is  that  I  shall 
there  find  my  orders,  if,  indeed,  I  do  not  find  my  commanding 
officer.  I  wait  but  to  fulfil  some  important  duties  here,  when  I 
shall  move  direct  in  that  quarter." 

"  And  when,  Robert,  do  you  expect  to  return  ?w  was  the  farther 
inquiry,  put  with  considerable  earnestness  of  manner. 

"  In  three  or  four  weeks,  Emily  ;  not  before,  and  probably  not 
even  then  ;  for  I  may  be  ordered  to  join  the  continentals,  on 
Gates's  arrival,  and  shall  then  have  a  more  limited  range  and 
cise  than  now." 


274  THE    PARTISAN, 

"  That  will  be  too  late,  too  late!"  murmured  the  maiden  with  an 
expression  of  deep  regret. 

"  Too  late  for  what,  dear  Emily  ?"  said  the  major,  quickly,  in 
reply ;  but  when  he  met  her  glance,  and  saw  the  mournful  utter 
ance  which  it  looked,  he  needed  no  answer  to  his  question.  Never 
did  eye  more  explicitly  speak  than  hers,  and  he  turned  his  own 
away  to  conceal  its  tears. 

"Too  late  to  see  me  die!"  she  murmured,  as  he  bent  his  head 
downward,  concealing  his  face  in  the  folds  of  her  encircling  arms. 
"  Ah,  Robert!  I  leave  you,  but  not  lonely  I  hope — not  altogether 
alone."  Her  eye  rested  upon  the  face  of  Kate  Walton,  as  she 
uttered  this  hope  ;  and  though  her  brother  saw  not  the  look,  yet 
the  cheeks  of  the  conscious  Kate,  so  silently  yet  expressively  ap 
pealed  to,  were  deeply  crimsoned  on  the  instant.  She  turned  away 
from  the  couch  and  looked  through  the  window  opening  upon  the 
waters  of  the  Ashley,  which  wound  at  a  little  distance  beyond 
them,  stealing  off,  like  a  creation  of  the  fancy,  under  the  close 
glance  of  the  observer.  Her  fingers  played  all  the  while  with  the 
branches  of  the  oak  that  rose  immediately  beside  the  window. 

Emily  then  intimated  to  her  brother  her  increasing  debility,  the 
necessity  of  her  own  repose  and  of  his  departure,  with  a  calmness 
which  was  perfect,  and  painfully  appalling  to  him  in  consequence. 

"  But  come  to  me  to-morrow,  to-morrow  night,  Robert;  come 
early — I  would  speak  with  you ;  I  have  much  to  say  to  you,  and 
I  feel  that  I  have  but  little  time  to  say  it  in.  Fail  me  not,  unless 
there  be  hazard,  and  then  heed  not  my  desire.  You  must  risk 
nothing,  Robert ;  your  life  is  more  valuable  to  me,  strange  to  say, 
as  my  own  is  leaving  me.  I  know  its  value,  as  I  am  now  about  to 
1)6  taught  its  loss.  But  go  now — and  remember,  to-morrow." 

His  grief  and  her  farewell  were  alike  voiceless.  He  pressed  her 
cold  cheek  with  his  lips  at  parting;  then,  like  one  who  had  left 
Behind  him  all  his  consciousness,  he  descended  with  his  beautiful 
cousin  from  that  sad  but  sacred  apartment,  where  life  still  lingered, 
neutralizing  decay  with  its  latent  freshness,  but^  where  immortality 
already  seemed  to  have  put  on  some  hue  of  that  eternal  morning, 
whose  bloom  and  whose  freshness  speak  not,  only  for  iU  lasting 
yxibtfiu-.e,  but  for  il>  holy  purity. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"I  cannot  list  thy  pleading,  though  thou  pUxI'rt 
In  mti*i(;  which  I  love." 

HKR  father  being  absent,  Kate  did  the  honours  of  the  household, 
and  we  need  not  say  how  much  gratification  Major  Singleton  felt 
when  he  found  himself  alone  with  his  sweet  cousin  in  the  parlour 
below.  He  loved — he  had  much  to  say,  and  the  present  wa£  an 
opportunity  which  he  had  long  desired.  We  have  already  seen 
him  urging  those  claims  upon  her  closest  regards  which  she  con 
tinued  to  evade.  He  now  determined  to  press  them;  and,  hand 
ing  her  to  the  sofa  with  a  degree  of  rigid  solemnity  in  his  manner 
which  led  her  to  conclude  that  his  object  was  any  thing  but  what 
it  rjeally  was,  she  willingly  took  the  seat  to  which  he  conducted 
her. 

Singleton  was  no  sentimentalist,  but  a  man  of  sterling  character, 
and  deep,  true  feeling.  He  was  one  of  those  who  never  trifle; 
and  the  prompter  at  his  heart,  though  taking  the  name  of  that 
capricious  mood  which  is  always  fair  game  for  the  arch  jest  and 
playful  satire,  was  yet  altogether  a  more  lofty  and  dignified  senti 
ment.  His  love  was  of  his  life  a  vital  part;  it  made  up  his  exist- 
once,  and  embodied  in  its  own  the  forms  of  a  thousand  strong 
obligations  to  society  and  man.  It  was  now  prominent  to  his  own 
view  in  the  form  of  a  sacred  duty — a  duty  to  others  not  less  than 
to  himself.  Perhaps,  too,  as  he  was  something  of  an  idealist,  and 
strove  to  believe  in  attributes  which  are  not  always  found  profuse Iv 
in  the  world,  there  rmiy  have  been  something  of  the  spiritualizing 
character  of  poetry  mixed  up  in  his  devotions — giving  dignity  to 
a  purpose  which  is  usually  urged  with  timidity,  but  which,  in  tht 
present  case,  was  treated  with  all  the  straightforward  singleness  of 
aim  which  belongs  to  the  man  of  mere  business. 

'•  Katharine,"  he  said,  afte?  a  brief  pause,  during  which  his  eyw* 


276  THE   PARTISAN. 

gazed  on  Ler  with  a  calm  deep  earnestness  which  at  length  sent 
the  glance  of  hers  downward  beneath  them — "Katharine,  my 
cousin,  months  have  passed  since  you  were  taught  to  know  my 
feeling  towards  you.  Since  I  have  known  you,  that  feeling  has 
been  hourly  on  the  increase.  I  loved,  the  more  I  knew  ;  and 
though  changes  have  come  over  us  both — changes  of  fortune,  of 
condition,  of  appearance — yet  I  have  only  admired  you  the  more 
with  every  change.  You  have  always  seemed  to  me  the  one— th« 
one  only — whom  I  could  truly  love  and  cherish  as  a  wife ;  and 
this  thought,  my  cousin,  has  not  been  because  of  your  beauty, 
which,  though  great,  has  never  called  forth,  and  shall  never  call 
forth,  so  long  as  I  think  you  what  I  think  you  now,  one  single 
encomium  from  me." 

She  would  have  interrupted  him,  but  he  simply  placed  his  finger 
upon  her  arm,  and  proceeded. 

"  Nay,  fear  not,  and  do  not  interrupt  me.  I  know  you  too  well, 
and  think  of  you  too  highly,  to  endeavour  now  to  fill  your  ears  with 
praises  of  that  beauty  of  which  neither  of  us  can  be  utterly  uncon 
scious.  I  shall  speak  of  other  qualities  which  have  recommended 
you  to  me,  not  in  praise  of  them  now,  but  only  as,  in  urging  my 
pretensions  to  your  hand,  I  would  prove  to  you  that  I  have  studied 
your  character,  and  am  so  far  satisfied  with  the  results  as  to  be 
willing  now  to  adventure  all  my  affections — and  they  are  concen 
trated  very  closely  now,  and  will  soon  be  more  so — in  the  offer 
which  I  shall  make  you.  I  think  now  that  I  know  your  character. 
I  have  seen  its  firmness,  its  masculine  good  sense,  and  its  unosten 
tatious  delicacy.  Such  a  character  will  not  be  apt  to  misunder 
stand  mine,  and  in  this  lies  one  chief  security  of  domestic  bliss. 
Such,  for  a  long  season,  has  been  my  thought,  and  I  must  now  act 
upon  it,  or  never.  I  have  reasons  for  desiring  it  now,  which  your 
own  reflections  may  not  teach  you,  but  which  you  must  know  here 
after.  Cousin,  dear  Kate,  forgive  me  if  my  speech  be  less  than 
gentle — if  it  seem  abrupt  or  harsh.  I  am  not  apt  at  professions  ; 
and  with  you  1  would  rather  avoid  that  show  of  sentiment  which  I 
know  makes  up,  most  commonly,  the  language  of  the  lover.  To 
you  I  would  rather  that  my  words  should  be  of  the  most  simpl« 
and  least  equivocal  character.  To  your  good  sense,  not  your  weak 


NECESSITY  OF   LOVING.  277 

nesses,  the  profler  of  ray  hand  is  now  made.  Let  me  hope  that 
/our  good  sen.se  will  determine  the  question,  which  I  would  not 
w:llingly  submit  to  any  other  tribunal." 

He  took  her  hand,  at  the  conclusion  of  his  remarks,  and  she  suf 
fered  it  to  rest  passively  in  his  grasp.  She  did  not  immediately 
answer,  but  appeared  lost  in  veflections,  which  were  not,  however, 
the  less  pleasing  because  they  exhibited  themselves  in  doubt  and 
indecision,  ller  eye,  meanwhile,  did  not  fall  beneath  the  search 
ing  gaze  of  his:  its  deep  and  beautiful  blue  met  his  own  unshrink 
ingly  ;  nay,  with  something  of  a  sympathizing  fondness  in  its  ex 
pression,  which  the  tenor  of  her  uttered  reply  did  not,  however, 
confirm.  The  pause  of  the  moment  over,  she  turned  to  her  suitor. 

"  Robert,  you  have  but  this  moment  come  from  the  chamber  of 
sickness — soon  to  be  the  chamber  of  death.  You  cannot  deceive 
yourself  as  to  the  condition  of  Emily  ;  she  is  sinking  fast." 

"  I  know  it — 1  feel  it,"  he  answered,  gloomily. 

"  How  can  you  know  it — how  can  you  feel  it,  Robert,  when  you 
come  from  the  presence  of  one  already  linked  as  it  were  with  hea 
ven,  and  thus  immediately  after  urge  to  me  so  earthly  a  prayer  ? 
How  can  I,  so  filled  as  my  thoughts  should  be,  and  are,  with  con 
siderations  of  gloom  and  the  grave,  thus  give  car  to  any  less  sanc 
tified  consideration  ?  I'ardon  me,  dear  cousin  ;  but  it  seems  to  me 
almost  irreverent  that  we  should  discourse  of  any  other  themes  at 
tins  moment  than  those  of  sorrow." 

"  At  another  time,  and  with  an  affliction  less  severe  than  this, 
your  rebuke  would  have  been  felt.  But  this  to  me  i«  no  common 
affliction.  It  leaves  me  alone — unaccompanied — desolate  in  all  the 
wide  world  of  man.  You  know  our  history.  For  years  that  girl 
has  been  all  to  me :  I  had  her  to  love  ;  I  was  her  brother — her 
jirotector — her  all ;  and  upon  her  I  expended  a  thousand  strong 
feelings  and  warm  aflections  which,  when  she  goes,  must  crowd 
back  upon,  and  overwhelm  me.  We  must  have  something  in  life 
giving  us  the  right  to  love — something  which  we  can  make  our 
own  exclusive  altar-place,  which  our  loves  and  cares  mj^y  hallow  to 
themselves,  sacred  from  all  intrusion,  all  rivalry,  all  denial  from 
another.  While  she  lived — while  there,  was  hope  for  her — there 
WHS  ulways  one  sacred  tj  me — of  whose  sympathies,  when  oth?n 
12* 


278  THE    PARTISAN. 

were  cold  or  stern,  1  c*.  lid  be  certain.  When  she  leaves  me,  Kate, 
I  am  aloue  ;  there  is  bi.t  one  to  whom  1  may  turn  with  confidence 
and  trust — but  one,  and  of  that  one  1  would  be  secure  in  the  prof 
fer  which  I  now  make  to  you :  it  is  for  you  to  say,  and  to  say 
freely,  with  what  hope."  .;.s;, 

"  Robert,  you  know  well  how  I  esteem  you — " 

"  Utter  no  professions,  Kate — not  so  coldly,  at  least — if  you 
really  have  any  regard  for  me." 

"You  mistake — you  do  me  injustice,  cousin — I  would  not  he 
cold  or  inconsiderate.  I  do  esteem  you — " 

"  Esteem !" 

"  Well,  well — love  you,  then,  if  you  like  the  word  better." 

He  pressed  her  hand. 

"  I  do  love  you,  and  too  well  ever  to  be  cold  to  your  claims,  or 
indifferent  to  your  affection.  1  have  heard  you  with  a  degree  of 
regard  of  which  I  shall  not  speak  ;  and  I  feel,  deeply  feel,  the  high 
compliment  which  you  have  paid  me,  in  the  offer  of  your  hand. 
But  let  me  ask  of  your  reason — of  your  own  good  sense — if  the  pre 
sent  be  the  season  for  engagements  of  this  nature  :i  I  speak  not 
now  of  the  condition  of  your  sister,  but  of  the  country.  What  is 
the  hope  of  repose,  of  domestic  felicity,  at  such  a  period,  when  the 
strong  arm  of  power,  at  its  caprice,  invndes  every  sanctuary  ? — 
when  the  family  mansion  of  the  wealthy  planter  shares  the  fate  of 
the  loghouse  of  the  squatter  ? — and  when  a  renewal  of  injury  only 
meets  your  application  for  redress  3  You  will  see  that  this  is  no 
season  for  thoughts  such  as  those  belonging  to  the  offer  which  you 
make  me." 

"It  is,  then,  to  the  time — to  the  consummation,  at  this  period — 
of  my  proposal,  and  not  to  the  proposal  itself,  which  you  object  ? 
Do  I  understand  you  thus,  dear  cousin  ?" 

"  Not  exactly,  Robert.  I  object  to  all  at  this  season.  I  object 
to  a  consideration  of  the  proposal  at  this  moment,  as  unseemly  ainl 
improper,  for  many  reasons*;  and  1  beg,  therefore,  that  you  would 
withdraw  your  application,  and  not  exact  from  me  any  answer 
now." 

"  Aud  why  not  answer  for  the  future,  Kate  ?  Why  not  speak 
«onditionally  in  answer,  and  with  reference  to  the  period  when 


LOYALTY   OF    WOMAN.  2  79 

peace  shall  be  restored  to  the  country  ?  I  would  not,  indeed,  that 
we  should  many  now.  I  would  only  be  assured  that  I  have  iu 
you,  whatever  may  be  the  chances  of  war  or  the  vicissitudes  of 
life,  one  to  love  me,  and  who  could  meet  me  with  an  affection  like 
my  own.  I  would  have  you  ever  as  an  ark  to  me,  shrining  and 
preserving  my  best  affections,  however  the  storms  raged  and  the 
billows  rolled  around  us." 

"  1  will  not  deny  to  you,  Robert,  that,  were  I  disposed  to  make 
&t  this  moment  a  pledge  of  my  heart  to  any,  I  know  not  one  to 
whom  I  would  sooner  make  it  than  to  you.  If  my  character  has 
been  your  study,  I  too  have  been  somewhat  observant  of  yours.  I 
have  long  regarded  you  as  one  to  whom  honour  is  dear,  and  man 
liness  habitual — as  one  delicate  and  true  in  feeling,  gentle  in  de 
portment,  and  properly  sensible  of  that  consideration  of  the  claims 
of  others,  without  which  no  man  can  possibly  be  the  gentleman. 
These,  I  hold,  in  addition  to  your  acknowledged  bravery  and  good 
sense,  to  be  your  characteristics ;  and  they  are  such  as  all  sensible 
women  must  esteem,  and  such  as,  in  you,  my  cousin,  I  have  long 
been  accustomed  to  esteem  and— love.  Is  not  this  enough  ? 
Wherefore  press  me  to  say  that  I  will  not,  at  this  time,  make 
pledges  of  affection  to  any  man — that  I  will  not  bind  myself  or  my 
affections  fur  the  future — that  in  this  season  of  peril,  owing  as  I  do 
the  duty  of  a  child  to  her  parent,  I  will  not,  while  he  may  need 
my  attendance,  bind  myself  to  other  duties,  which  may  be  incon 
sistent  with  those  which  I  owe  to  him  ?  Such  must  be  my  answer, 
Robert,  to  the  proffer  which  you  make  me." 

"  Ah,  Kate  !  your  pledge  would  be  everything  to  me,  amid  the 
dangers  of  the  war  we  wage." 

"  Nothing !"  she  replied  quickly  ;  "  nothing  more  than  I  would 
be  to  you,  Robert,  even  now,  were  those  dangers  to  come  home  to 
you.  Were  you  wounded,  believe  me,  cousin,  or  brother,  or  lovei; 
I  should  watch  by  your  bedside,  bathe  your  head,  bring  you  re 
freshment  ;  ay,  dress  your  wounds — I  pledge  it  &*>  a  true  woman— 
with  as  little  scruple  as  if  you  were  even  now  my  wedded  husband. 
Nay,  shake  not  your  head  !  You  know  me  not,  Robert,  if  you  doubt 
me  in  this.  I  may  not  have  the  strength,  but  I  have  the  heart,  I 
tuu  sure,  to  do  all  this  that  I  promise." 


280  THE    PARTISAN. 

"And  wherefore  uot  say  more  ?  Why,  if  you  are  willing  to  per 
form  such  duties,  will  you  not  give  me  the  right  to  claim  them  at 
your  hands  ?" 

"  Because  such  a  pledge  may  prove  inconsistent  with  the  duties 
which  I  owe  to  another.  Urge  me  no  more,  Robert.  13e  content 
with  what  I  have  said.  At  this  moment  I  cannot  make  the  pledge 
that  you  require.  I  dare  not !  Wait  the  due  season :  when  the 
war  is  over ;  when  Carolina  shall  be  free  from  hostile  footsteps  ;  and 
when  the  land  is  cleansed  of  its  pollution ; — come  to  me  then,  if 
you  hold  this  same  temper,  and  then,  if  there  be  no  change  in  me 
— nay,  there  can  be  no  change — I  shall  give  you  my  hand,  per 
fectly  and  all  your  own,  as  fully  as  I  give  it  to  you  this  moment  in 
sisterly  regard.  There,  take  it,  and  leave  me,  for  the  hour  is  grow 
ing  late." 

He  carried  the  extended  fingers  to  nis  aps,  and  without  farther 
word  was  about  to  hurry  from  the  apartment,  when  he  was  arrested 
in  his  progress  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  his  aunt  bringing  a 
message  from  his  sister,  requiring  to  see  him  again,  if  he  had  not 
already  departed.  An  unlooked-for  change  had  come  over  her,  ac 
cording  to  the  old  lady's  representations ;  she  had  grown  sensibly 
weaker,  and  she  thought  her  mind  incoherent  and  slightly  wan 
dering. 

With  palpitating  heart  and  trembling  footsteps,  followed  by  the 
two  ladies,  Singleton  again  ascended  the  stairs  leading  to  the  cham 
ber  of  death  ;  but,  remembering  the  reference  of  Emily  to  his  sword 
and  pistols,  and  how  their  presence  had  disturbed  her,  he  took  them 
from  his  belt  and  placed  them  upon  a  table  which  stood  in  the  pas 
sage.  The  next  moment,  he  resumed  his  seat  beside  the  shadow  j 
person  of  the  maiden. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 


•*  How  the  flame  flickeri  iu  the  lamp  ! — how  brifkt, 
With  a  strange  beauty — and  now,  dim  for  eTer." 


AND  two  opposing  and  mighty  principles  were  at  fearful  strife  in 
that  chamber.  Death  was  there  with  power  not  to  be  withstood 
and  there  life  vainly  endeavoured  to  combat  him.  Yet  there  were 
no  shows  of  terror  or  of  violence  in  the  struggle — no  exhibition  of 
the  torturing  pain,  and  of  the  spirit  vainly  resisting  and  striving  to 
escape.  All  was  gentleness,  even  in  the  murmurs  which  occasion 
ally  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  dying  girl.  Her  cheek  was  transpa 
rent — her  eye  wore  a  sublimated  light,  as  it  quivered  in  its  socket, 
and  flickering  in  changing  directions,  seemed  in  search  of  some 
expected  presence.  Her  pale  lips  were  slightly  parted,  and  the 
even  tops  of  the  pearly  teeth  below  were  just  perceptible.  The 
gauze  of  her  drapery  was  scarcely  lifted  by  the  heave  of  her  bosom  ; 
and  as  her  hand  lay  partially  upon  it,  you  might  even  trace  out  the 
smallest  of  her  blue  veins,  like  so  many  fibres  of  the  flower,  shin 
ing  through  the  delicate  skin.  She  was  dying — dying  without 
seeming  pain ;  and  well  might  her  brother  fancy,  from  the  pleasant 
smile  upon  her  countenance,  that  the  whispering  sound  which 
reached  his  ears  on  entering  the  apartment,  had  fallen  from  the 
sister  angels  already  busy  around  her. 

He  sat  beside  her,  took  her  hand,  pressed  his  lips  upon  her  fore 
head,  and  for  a  few  seconds  remained  without  attracting  her  notice. 
Her  eye  at  length  glanced  wildly  upon  him,  and  the  lips,  which 
had  fallen  apart,  were  reclosed  as  she  recognised  him.  At  last  a 
faint  smile  enlivened  them — a  fond  effulgence  filled  her  eye — she 
laid  one  of  her  hands  upon  that  with  which  he  had  already  clasped 
her  own,  and  murmured  something  faintly  which  he  could  not 
understand.  It  was  a  strong  effort  which  her  uiiud  had  uiad«  to 


282  THK    PARTISAN. 

concentrate  itself  upon  a  single  object,  and  some  minutes  elapsed 
before  it  was  quite  successful.     At  length  she  spoke : — 

"  Oh,  Robert,  I  sent  for  you.  I'm  so  glad  you  were  not  yet  gone, 
for  I  feel  that  I  am  dying.  1  am  not  mistaken  now.  I  know  it  to 
be  death.  This  darkness  -these  shades  that  come  across  my  eyes 
are  its  cloud,  and  it  presses  momently  closer  and  closer  upon  them. 
It  must  be  so ;  and  I  have  been  afraid — wery  much  afraid  since 
you  left  me,  that  my  thoughts  were  crowding  and  confused.  The  y 
were  strangely  mixed  up  together — very  strangely ;  and  once  1 
felt  that  they  were  escaping  me  ;  and  then  I  grew  terrified.  I 
would  not  lose  my  senses — I  would  have  them  to  the  last ;  for  I 
would  speak  to  you  and  to  Kate,  even  with  my  parting  breath.  It 
is  sweet  to  die  so.  I  could  bear  it  then :  but  not  to  know,  not  to 
say  farewell,  and  pray  for  you  in  the  moment  of  parting,  would  be 
terrible  indeed — terrible,  terrible  !" 

Her  eyes  closed,  and*  her  hands  were  clasped,  as  she  concluded 
the  sentence,  while  her  lips  separated,  and  her  voice  was  heard  in 
whispers,  as  if  in  prayer.  When  her  eyes  again  opened,  there 
was  a  wildness  in  their  expression — a  misty  gleaming,  that  seemed 
to  confirm  to  those  around  her,  the  fear  which  she  had  expressed. 
The  mind  was  evidently  wandering;  but  the  strong  will,  still  pre 
eminent,  enabled  her  to  bring  back  the  forgetting  thoughts,  and  to 
fix  them  in  expression.  Her  words  now  were  in  broken  murmurs. 

"  Not  my  will,  not  my  will,  but  thine,  Father ! — yet  for  him — 
for  Robert,  my  poor  brother — could  it  only  be — for  him — for 
Robert !" 

The  name  recalled  her  more  vividly  to  him  who  sat  beside  her, 
and  her  eyes  were  again  fixed  upon  his  face. 

"  Old  mauiua  ! — is  she  here,  Robert — where  ?" 

lie  shook  his  head  negatively,  but  made  no  other  reply. 

"  Be  good  to  her  for  me  ;  tell  her — ah  !" 

She  closed  her  eyes,  and  a  slight  distortion  of  the  lips  declared 
the  pang  which  she  felt  at  that  moment,  and  from  which  it  was 
several  minutes  before  she  was  so  far  recovered  as  to  be  able  to 
speak  again.  When  she  did,  it  was  with  a  sweet  smile  of  patient 
resignation. 

"  Strange  that  death    cauuot  take  his    piey   without  iufliatlfig 


SURPRISE.  283 

pain  !  I  am  willing  to  go  with  him.  1  offer  no  resistance ;  yet  lie 
strikes  and  rends,  the  same  as  if  I  did.  Life  struggles  still,  even 
when  you  desire  it  not;  but  it  does  its  duty — it  holds  on  to 
its  trust,  and  I  must  not  complain.  But,  dear  Robert,  forget  not  old 
inauina !  Give  her  all  rny  things;  and  there  is  a  new  frock  which 
I  have  made  for  her.  Kate  will  give  you  the  message  that,  is 
to  go  along  with  it.  ,  And,  Robert — the  garden — the — ah,  how 
cioudy,  cloudy — so  very  dark;  and  that  is  through  sin — sin — " 

The  lips  continued  to  mutter,  though  the  words  grew  indistinct. 
The  mind  was  again  wandering — the  soul  was  anxiously  seek 
ing  to  escape  its  earthly  tabernacle;  but  the  flesh  as  tenaciously 
strove  to  detain  its  prisoner.  Singleton  on  one  side,  and  Kate 
upon  the  other,  bent  speechlessly  over  the  dying  maiden.  The 
eyes  of  Kate  were  full  of  tears;  but  Singleton  choked  with  the 
grief  to  which  tears  could  give  no  utterance.  She  started  while 
he  lay  in  this  position,  and  her  head,  with  unusual  vigour,  was 
lifted  from  the  pillow  ;  while  her  eye,  glancing  with  a  strong  light, 
looked  down  upon  him  with  a  bewildered  glance,  as  if  terror  and 
astonishment  prompted  its  expression.  He  was  roused  less  by  her 
movement,  of  which,  as  his  face  was  buried  in  the  pillow,  he  had 
been  unconscious,  than  by  the  words  which  followed  it. 

"Oh,  you  are  here?  Well,  take  it;  but  it's  a  sin,  and  yon 
know  that  it  is  a  sin.  There  were  but  two,  and  they  both  died ;  and 
— yes,  yes, — they  both  died — one  in  the  morning  and  the  other  in 
the  evening,  but  all  on  the  same  day,  and  that  was  God's  blessing. 
It's—" 

She  shook  her  head,  as  she  checked  herself  in  her  wandering 
expressions,  and,  with  a  sad  look,  remarked  upon  it — 

"It  is  so — I  feel  it — I  feel  how  uncertain  my  thoughts  are ;  they 
Are  continually  going  from  me,  or  putting  on  strange  forms,  and  I 
only  get  them  back  with  an  effort  which  is  painful." 

She  raised  her  right  hand  as  she  concluded,  gazed  upon  it  atten 
tively,  and  then  begged  Kate  to  hand  her  a  mirror.  She  looked 
in  it  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  put  it  away  from  her,  witb 
A  melancholy  but  sweet  smile. 

"  I  shall  not  look  in  it  again,  I  think.  I  do  not  wish  it ;  for  it 
tells  me  how  young  I  am — how  very  young  to  die :  but  the  les* 


THE    PARTISAN. 

•orrow,  the  less  sin  !  I  have  loved  you  all — you,  Robert — you,  and 
you,  Kate — and  you,  too  dear  aunt,  I  have  indeed  loved  you  very 
much;  yet  sooietimes  I  have  pained  and  angered  you." 

"Oh!  no!  no!  no!" 

"  Yet,  it  could  not  have  been  otherwise ;  but  1  know  that  you 
will  forgive  me  all.  Forgive  me,  if  I  have  said  a  cross  word, 
or  done  any  thing  unkindly.  Forgive  me — will  you  not? — for 
indeed  I  would  not  thinkingly  have  pained  you." 

"Forgive  you!  ay,  that  we  do,  my  child;  if  there  i»e  any  thing 
you  have  done  needing  forgiveness  from  us,  or  anybody—which  I 
believe  not — I  forgive  you  from  my  soul,  my  blessed  angel — God 
almighty  bless  and  forgive  you  !" 

Her  aunt  was  the  only  one  about  her  who  could  reply ;  she 
understood  the  speechless  sorrow  in  the  faces  of  her  brother  and 
cousin,  and  the  pressure  of  her  hand  in  theirs  had  a  sufficient 
answer.  This  pressure  seemed  to  prompt  a  new  feeling  and  desire  ; 
and  with  an  eye  turned  pleadingly  to  Kate,  she  strove  to  carry  her 
hand  towards  that  of  her  brother.  Without  scruple,  Kate  freely 
extended  it,  and  the  hands  of  the  cousins  were  clasped  above  the 
form  of  the  sufferer.  She  nodded  her  head,  and  smiled  in  appro 
bation.  At  this  moment  a  servant  from  below  beckoned  Kate 
away,  and  she  left  the  room.  A  sudden  stir — a  commotion,  rather 
louder  than  usual,  and  certainly  not  desirable  at  such  a  place  and 
hour,  reached  the  ears  of  Singleton ;  and  while  he  was  wondering, 
Kate  reappeared.  Her  face  was  full  of  alarm,  and,  hurriedly,  she 
informed  Singleton  of  the  approach  of  enemies. 

"  Oh,  Robert,  you  must  fly  !  A  troop  is  below  from  the  garrison, 
with  Major  Proctor  at  their  head.  They  are  now  moving  rapidly 
down  the  avenue,  and  will  soon  be  here.  Fly  to  the  back  balcony, 
while  1  keep  the  door  closed  in  front." 

He  bowed  his  head  slightly  in  reply,  but  took  no  other  heed  ot 
her  information  ;  while,  proceeding  to  do  as  she  had  said,  Kate 
descended  to  the  hall  below.  With  head  bent  down  upon  the 
pillow,  Singleton  gave  \\ay  to  that  abstraction  of  the  soul  which 
belonged  to  a  sorrow  so  trying  as  his  own.  He  seemed  utterly  to 
have  forgotten  the  words  of  his  cousin,  and  made  no  movement, 
and  showed  uu  disposition  to  heed  the  warning.  Seeing  this,  1m 


DANGER.  286 

aunt  now  came  towards  him,  and  endeavoured  to  arouse  him  to  a 
sense  of  his  danger. 

"  You  waste  time,  Robert,  that  is  precious.  For  God's  sake  fly, 
my  son  ;  fly  while  the  chance  is  allowed  you." 

It  was  a  moment  when  he  seemed  not  to  comprehend.  ilia 
thoughts  were  not  with  himself.  He  answered  inconsequentially — 

"  Why  do  you  tell  me  this  ?     Wherefore  ?" 

"  Why,  Robert,  why?  It  will  soon  be  too  late.  Why  not  do 
as  Kate  advised  you  ?  Take  the  back  piazza,  and  delay  no  longer." 

"  Ah, — leave  her  ?"  was  the  melancholy  reply,  as  he  gazed  dow* 
with  a  look  of  self-abandonment  upon  the  scarce  conscious  girl 
before  him. 

"  What  is  it — what  is  it,  aunt?"  she  cried,  starting  up  from  the 
pillow,  as  the  entreaties  of  the  old  lady,  rather  loudly  expressed, 
reached  her  senses,  and  aroused  them. 

"  lie  is  in  danger — the  British  are  coming ;  and  he  won't  fly, 
though  he  knows  they  will  hang  him  without  judge  or  jury." 

"  Robert,  Robert !"  said  the  girl,  turning  to  him  quickly — all 
her  thoughts  coining  back  to  their  proper  activity.  "  Delay  not  an 
instant,  my  dear  brother.  Delay  riot,  delay  not — but  fly." 

"Urge  me  not,  Emily ;  there  is  little  danger,  and  I  would  much 
rather  remain  here  with  you." 

"  Deceive  me  not,  brother — I  warn  you,  deceive  me  not !"  she 
exclaimed,  with  a  sterner  tone  of  expression  than  heretofore. 

"  There  is  danger,  and  your  stay  involves  your  saftty.  Do  I  not 
know  the  doom  which  they  hold  for  him  whom  they  call  the  rebel 
—  do  I  not  ?  Leave  me,  and  go  at  once — I  implore,  I  command  you." 

"  I  cannot—" 

"  You  must  not  vex  me  now — chafe  me  not,  dearest  brother,  in 
these  moments  which  should  be  sacred  to  peace.  Oo  not  embitter 
my  thoughts  by  uselessly  exposing  yourself  to  danger.  Ha !  they 
come — they  come  !  Fly,  I  command  you — fly — fly  from  rne,  or  I 
will  leave  you  in  anger.  Fly,  fly !" 

Be  turned  to  press  his  lips  to  her  forehead,  but  she  motioned  him 
away. 

"  Say  that  you  will  go — yes !"  was  her  brief  sentence. 

"  I  will— I  will,  my  poor  Emily — I  will." 


286  THE    PARTISAN. 

She  turiud  to  him  with  affectionate  fondness,  j^ave  him  her  hand, 
ami  his  lips  were  glued  to  her  own. 

"  God  bless  yon — God  bless  yon,  and  keep  you  safe  for  ever.  Fly 
now,  and  delay  not." 

A  noise  from  below  of  approaching  feet,  warned  him  of  the  neces 
sity  of  a  rapid  flight;  but  as  he  was  about  to  leave  the  chamber, 
the  little  black  girl  who  attended  upon  it,  informed  him  that  a 
guard  had  been  posted  at  both  the  doors,  in  the  front  and  rear  of 
Ui«j  building.  There  was  but  one  resource,  and  that  was  suggested 
by  his  aunt.  She  pointed  to  the  chamber  window,  against  which 
the  shrouding  branches  of  the  massive  oak  from  below  had  lifted 
themselves,  as  with  a  friendly  offer  of  succour.  He  returned  to  the 
chamber — his  lips  were  once  more  hurriedly  pressed  to  those  of  his 
sister,  whom  he  was  never  more  to  see ;  but  now  she  repulsed  him 
impatiently.  He  obeyed  her  sadly ;  tearing  himself  at  length  away, 
he  passed  through  the  window  and  was  soon  descending  the  tree, 
which  fortunately  stood  on  the  side  of  the  dwelling,  remote  from  the 
two  entrances,  and  hiding  every  thing  in  the  deepest  shadow. 

"  Look,  look  down,  aunt,  and  say  if  he  is  safe,"  said  Emily,  pant 
ing  with  the  impatient  effort.  The  old  lady  gazed  attentively,  as  th« 
rustling  of  the  tree  indicated  his  progress  down. 

"  He  is  now  at  the  bottom,  my  child.     He  is  safe  down." 

"  Does  he  fly — \mseen  ?" 

"  No,  my  child,  he  stands  at.  the  bottom." 

"  Oh,  call  to  him  to  go — bid  him  not  delay — does  he  go  now  ?" 

"  Yes ;  now  he  moves ;  he  moves  towards  the  big  walnut-tree." 

"  Oh  heavens !  he  will  be  seen  by  others,  if  you  can  see  him  so 
far.  Say,  dear  aunt,  where  is  he  now  ?" 

"  He  moves  from  tree  to  tree,  my  child.  Be  patient,  they  see  him 
riot.  Now  T  lose  him,  he  goes  behind  the  kitchen.  Now  he  moves 
along  the  fence — he  is  over  it,  and  in  the  shadow.  They  cannot  see 
him  now,  and  he  will  soon  be  at  the  river.  He  is  safe  I'm  sure — 
he  must  be  safe !" 

"  Thank  God,  thank  God — ah  ! — mercy  ! — What  is  that,  what  is 
that? — They  have  slain  him,  they  have  slain  him!" 

A  sudden  rush  of  feet,  loud  voices  in  dispute,  and  the  discharge 
of  a  pistol,  were  the  sounds  which  had  so  acted  upon  the  sense* 


1NTKU810S.  28V 

of  the  dying  girl.  These  circumstances  require  an  attention  to  th* 
progress  of  the  party  under  Proctor,  and  their  success  in  entering 
the  house  before  the  doors  could  be  closed  against  them,  accord 
ing  to  the  original  design  of  Katharine.  Finding  her  purpose 
hopeless  when  she  descended  to  the. hall,  she  met  Major  Proctor 
at  the  threshold.  His  manner  was  studiously  respectful ;  how  could 
it  be  otherwise,  when  met  by  the  majestic  form  of  a  woman  like  the 
one  who  stood  before  him  ? — her  figure  erect — her  high  forehead 
seeming  to  expand  with  the  swelling  veins  upon  it — her  eye  kin 
dling  with  intenscst  light,  and  the  whole  expression  of  her  face  that 
of  dignified  rebuke. 

"Major  Proctor  chooses  strange  hours  for  doing  honour  to  my 
father's  household  ;  but  when  he  learns,  that  the  mstfter  of  the  house 
is  from  home,  1  trust  that,  as  a  gentleman,  he  will  forbear  to  tres 
pass  farther  upon  the  privacy  of  ladies.  1  doubt  not  that  my 
father  will  freely  see  him  in  any  seasonable  visit  he  may  think  fit  to 
make." 

She  stood  directly  before  him  in  the  passage-way,  and  it  was  not 
so  easy  to  pass  by  her.  He  had  previously  given  orders  to  a  couple 
of  soldiers  to  secure  the  back  entrance  ;  and  feeling  himself,  accord 
ingly,  perfectly  secure  in  his  hold  upon  his  prey,  having  himself  th<3 
command  of  the  front,  there  was  no  necessity  for  any  precipitation 
which  might  seem  to  diminish  his  respectful  deportment  towards 
her  who  addressed  him,  and  whom  he  was  so  desirous  to  conciliate. 
Lifting  his  cap  with  a  modest  and  even  humble  air,  while  speaking 
in  the  most  cautious  and  gentle  accents,  he  replied — 

'.'  The  hour  is  certainly  an  unseasonable  one,  Miss  Walton,  and 
nothing  but  an  imperative  sense  of  duty  to  my  king  and  command 
could  prompt  me,  in  this  manner,  to  any  trespass  upon  the  privacv 
of  those  whom  I  so  much  respect  as  the  family  of  Colonel  Walton. 
It  is  my  deep  regret  that  any  thing  should  occur  rendering  such  an 
assurance  on  my  part  necessary." 

"Mere  compliment,  Major  Proctor,  contrasts  oddly  with  th« 
violation  of  that  sacred  privacy  which  should  be  conceded  to  our 
•ex,  when  unprotected  by  the  presence  of  any  one  of  yours." 

"  I  knew  not  of  your  father's  absence,  Miss  Walton,"  returned 
th«  Englishman,  quickly.  Her  reply  was  instant. 


288  THE   PARTISAN. 

"  And  the  knowledge  of  it  now,  sir,  secures  us,  T  trust,  from  anj 
farther  intrusion  ?" 

The  retort  annoyed  him,  since  his  previous  remark  led  obviously 
to  the  inference  which  she  had  made  from  it.  There  was  a  flush 
upon  Proctor's  cheek  as  he  replied,  with  an  air  of  decision — 

"I  am  sorry,  Miss  Walton,  to  say  that  it  does  not.  I  know  the 
unamiable  light  in  which  I  must  appear  to  you  from  such  a  decla 
ration,  but  I  must  be  content  to  rely  for  my  justification  on 
your  own  knowledge  of  what  is  most  becoming  iu  a  soldier.  I 
must  do  my  duty." 

"  You  are  imperative,  Major  Proctor — but  I  am  yet  to  know 
what  part  of  your  duty  it  is  that  brings  you  to  our  poor  abode  at 
midnight."  • 

"  The  arrest,  Miss  Walton,  of  a  rebel — a  traitor  to  his  king  and 
country — a  disloyal  citizen,  who  has  been  skulking  about  the 
swamps,  coming  forth  only  to  murder,  and  who,  1  am  informed  on 
good  authority,  is  even  now  in  this  dwelling." 

The  epithets  conferred  so  freely  upon  her  cousin,  awakened 
all  the  indignation  of  the  high-spirited  maiden.  Her  eye  shot 
forth  angry  and  brighter  fires,  and  the  curling  hauteur  of  her  lip 
looked  a  volume  of  contempt  upon  the  speaker.  She  suppressed 
much  of  this  in  hei  language,  and  subdued  the  fever  of  her  fierce 
thought  to  something  like  a  quiet  expression  of  unconcern. 

"  Your  rebel  has  a  name,  Major  Proctor  ?" 

"He  has,  Miss  Walton;  regard  for  your  family  has  alone 
prevented  me  from  giving  it  utterance." 

"  Ha  !  indeed — you  are  considerate.  But,  sir,  you  will  please 
me  not  to  constrain  yourself  too  far.  I  would  know  this  brave  rebel 
who  gives  you  so  much  annoyance.  Thank  God  !  there  are  some 
still  in  Carolina,  like  myself,  who  owe  no  allegiance  to  the  king  of 
England :  who  hate  his  rule  as  they  despise  the  slaves  who 
obey  it." 

Major  Proctor,  with  a  flushing  face,  simply  bowed  afi  lie  replied — • 

"  The  rebel,  Miss  Walton,  now  supposed  to  be  in  this  house,  is 
one  Robert  Singleton,  one  of  Marion's  men,  and  ranking  as  a  major 
in  the  army  of  rebellion.  You  will  suffer  me,  I  hope,  to  proceed  in 
•earching  for  him,  since  it  is  my  duty,  and  one  that  I  &m  resolute 


COMMAND.  289 

to  perform.  Your  language,  Miss  Walton,  is  such  as  to  render  any 
•cruples  unnecessary  ;  but  I  was  a  gentleman,  Miss  Walton,  before 
I  became  a  soldier.  As  a  lady,  I  cannot  be  your  enemy,  whatever 
may  be  the  wrong  which  I  may  suffer  at  your  hands." 

The  respectful,  manly  deportment  of  Major  Proctor  could  not 
fail  to  exercise  its  full  force  upon  a  woman  of  so  much  character 
as  Katharine  Walton.  She  replied  almost  instantly,  making 
at  once  a  dignified  acknowledgment  of  the  undue  severity  of  her 
speech,  yet  insisting  upon  the  provocation  which  she  had  received. 

"  Robert  Singleton  is  rny  relative,  my  friend,  Major  Proctor — 
one  whom  I  dearly  love.  You  knew  much  of  this,  if  not  all,  yet 
your  epithets  were  unscrupulous  and  unqualified  in  connection  with 
his  name.  I  am  a  S<  uthron,  sir;  one  of  a  people  not  apt  to  suffer 
wrong  to  their  friends  or  kindred,  without  resenting  and  resisting  it; 
and  though  a  woman,  sir — a  weak  woman — I  feel,  sir,  that  I  have 
!he  will  and  the  spirit,  though  I  may  lack  the  skill  and  the  strength, 
to  endeavour  to  do  both." 

"  It  is  a  spirit  which  I  honour,  Miss  Walton,  and  my  speech  to 
you,  in  reference  to  your  relative,  my  own  sense  of  propriety 
has  already  taught  me  was  highly  unbecoming.  You  will  forgive 
me,  if  T  rightly  understand  your  nature,  Miss  Walton,  much  more 
readily  than  I  will  forgive  myself  for  the  error.  Meanwhile,  I  trust 
that  you  will  permit  me  to  pursue  this  search,  since  you  have  not 
assured  me  that  its  object  is  not  here." 

"  I  trust  that  Major  Proctor,  aware  of  my  father's  absence,  will 
leave  us  unmolested  until  his  return." 

"T  cannot — I  dare  not,  Miss  Walton— my  duty  forbids  it." 

"  Your  duty  gives  you  no  command  here,  Major  Proctor,  and 
your  troops  must  be  withdrawn,  though  1  call  upon  my  fathers 
slaves  with  a  view  to  their  expulsion." 

"  Will  they  obey  you,  Mi.-s  Walton  ?" 

"Ay,  sir,  to  the  last !  1  have  but  to  say  the  words  and  they  will 
rush  upon  your  bayonet*." 

"  I  am  wasting  time,  Miss  Walton — permit  me  to  pass  onward." 

And  he  advanced  as  he  spoke.  She  stood  resolutely  fixed  in  the 
spot  where  she  had  first  encountered  him,  and  he  saw  that  he 
would  be  compelled  to  employ  some  gentle  force  to  put  her  aside. 


290  THE   PARTISAN. 

Annoyed  and  chagrined  at  the  idea  of  any  such  necessity,  he  sought 
by  farther  exhortation  to  gain  his  object,  but  she  refused  to  hear 
him.  At  length,  as  a  last  resort,  he  said — 

"  Miss  Walton,  I  have  no  desire  to  press  this  matter.  Give  me 
your  word  that  the  person  I  seek  is  not  here,  and  I  withdraw  my 
»en  instantly." 

"Withdraw  your  men,  sir — you  keep  them  here  at  your  peril — 
~  give  no  assurances." 

Finding  his  efforts  unavailing,  Proctor  at  once  advanced,  and, 
resolute  to  put  her  aside  and  proceed  in  his  search,  his  hands  were 
already  extended  for  that  purpose,  when,  seeing  his  object,  she 
hastily  drew  back. 

"  Touch  me  not,  sir,  if  you  please.  If  you  are  resolute  to  intrude 
upon  us,  you  do  so  at  your  own  risk." 

And  before  he  could  pass  she  had  withdrawn  fierself  from  his 
presence,  and  hastily  ascended  the  staircase.  Placing  a  guard  at 
the  entrance,  he  quickly  followed  her,  and  as  he  entered  the  upper 
passage-way  he  found  her  standing  firmly  in  front  of  the  door  lead 
ing  to  Emily's  chamber. 

"  Major  Proctor,"  she  said,  solemnly,  u  this  is  the  chamber 
of  sickness — soon  to  be  the  chamber  of  death  !  I  charge  you  not 
to  approach  it." 

"  Miss  Walton,  1  will  do  my  duty,  if  you  will  allow  me,  with  ta> 
much  forbearance  as  possible;  but  I  must  do  it»" 

"  At  your  peril,  sir ;"  and  as  he  approached  she  presented  one 
of  the  pistols  of  Singleton  which  she  had  seized  from  a  neighbour 
ing  table.  The  sight  of  it  only  impelled  the  soldier  in  his  forward 
progress. 

"Back,  sir  !  I  command — 1  implore  you  !  I  would  not  use  tlm 
weapon  if  I  could  avoid  it ;  but  I  certainly  shall  use  it,  if  you  dare 
to  approach.  Force  me  not  to  do  so,  I  entreat  you." 

"I  cannot  hesitate — T  cannot  hear  you ;"  and  with  the  words  IIP 
resolutely  advanced.  She  thrust  the  wenpon  forward,  fixed  its  aim 
as  nearly  as  possible  upon  him,  and  with  the  single  words — 

"  God  forgive  me,  if  I  err  in  this,"  resolutely  drew  the  trigger. 

In  the  next  moment  Proctor  put  her  aside  with  the  utmoel 
gentleness, 


DKAT1I.  291 

''  You  are  spared  a  crime,  Miss  Walton.  The  spilling  ol  Jood 
is  not  always  grateful  to  man  ;  what  should  it  be  to  woman  ?" 

He  turned  from  her  to  the  handle  of  the  chamber  door,  and  sne 
was  too  much  stunned  to  seek  to  arrest  him  further.  But,  as  he 
entered  the  appartment,  he  started  back  in  horror.  The  picture 
that  met  his  sight  was  too  unexpected — too  imposing — too  unlike 
any  thing  he  had  ever  looked  upon  or  seen,  lie  had  beheld  the 
fmld  of  battle,  strewn  with  dead  and  wounded ;  but  the  sublinier 
j lowers  of  death,  in  which  he  effects  his  conquest  without  visible 
stroke  or  weapon,  had  never  met  his  eyes  till  now;  and  he  gazed 
with  something  like  stupefaction  upon  his  features,  as  the  spectacle 
rose  vividly  before  him. 

There,  rising  from  her  couch,  and  partially  erect  under  the  sud 
den  convulsion,  as  well  of  physical  pang  as  of  mental  excitement, 
Kniily  Singleton  met  the  first  glance  of  the  intruder.  Her  face  was 
ghastly  pale,  but  still  how  beautiful !  her  eye  was  glazing  fast,  but 
still  how  .expressive !  and  the  look  which  she  addressed  to  the 
intruder — a  look  which  seemed  to  signify  that  she  understood  his 
purpose — was  that  of  some  angry  ghost  rising  from  its  shroud  for 
the  purposes  of  solemn  rebuke.  A  wan,  spectral  light  from  her  eye, 
seemed  to  fall  in  rays  about  the  wasted  cheek  below  it ;  and  tht 
slight  exhibition  of  her  teeth,  which  the  lips,  parting  as  in  speech 
had  developed,  contributed  still  more  strongly  to  the  awful,  spell 
like,  expression  which  her  whole  countenance  wore  at  that  moment 
She  murmured,  but  incoherently— it  might  be  an  imprecation— 
and  so  the  Englishman  thought  it.  Her  arm  was  slightly  moved 
.•did  her  fingers  separated,  as  she  strove  to  lift  them ;  but  the  finger. 
i-lo.sed  again  feebly,  and  the  lifted  arm  sank  back  again  beside  her 
lie  slept  to  see  no  more,  but  rushed  from  the  apartment.  Katt 
look  her  place  beside  the  dying  maiden,  and  her  hand  adjusted  UK* 
pillows  while  supporting  her.  A  sweet  smile  now  overspread  hei 
fi-atures,  and  her  hand  sank  upon  one  shoulder.  Gradually  the  gla/* 
jvorspread  her  eyes,  as  a  cloud  shutting  in  the  blue  skies,  and  sh« 
fell  silently  into  the  sacred  slumber. 

"  Go  up,  go  up,  my  blessed   angel ! — the  heaven*  are  opea  far 

jour 


THE   PARTISAN. 


These  were  the  words  of  the  aunt,  while  Kate  lay  beside  the  life 
less  girl  immersed  in  a  sorrow  which  was  speechless.  The  spirit 
had  gone  for  ever  from  the  trying  and  troubling  earth  ;  the  «l?ei 
eord  had  been  loosed  —  the  golden  bowl  was  broken. 


CHAPTER    XXVIH, 

"  The  cringe  that  look*  up,  though  number*  pro*, 
And  t»ko«  a  newer  vigour  from  the  ttori'1.  " 

PUSHING  hastily  from  the  chamber  of  death,  Major  Procter  pro 
ceeded  to  the  court  below,  where  lie  assembled  his  men  for  the 
pursuit.  Though  profoundly  impressed  with  the  solemn  event 
which  he  had  witnessed — so  far  different  from  any  thing  he  had 
expected  to  see  in  the  apartment — he  was  too  good  a  soldier,  and 
too  mindful  of  his  duty,  to  lose  time  in  those  now  idle  regrets  at 
his  own  abruptness,  which  he  yet  properly  felt.  A  few  brief  words, 
directing  his  men  upon  different  routes — having  equally  divided 
them,  and  the  party  dispersed  in  obedience  to  his  commands.  One 
of  them,  consisting  of  four  men,  he  himself  led,  and  in  the  very 
direction  taken  by  our  flying  partisan. 

Singleton  knew  his  danger  if  taken,  and  at  once,  as  soon  as  he 
reached  the  horses,  prepared  for  the  most  rapid  flight.  He  -WHS 
weaponless,  and  there  was  no  other  alternative  for  safety ;  other 
wise  he  would  most  willingly  have  stood  his  ground,  for  his  was 
the  spirit  prompt  always  to  extricate  itself  from  its  difficulties  by 
the  boldest  daring.  The  strife  with  Proctor  also  promised  him  a 
large  degree  of  satisfaction,  apart  from  that  which  the  exercise  itself 
might  yield.  It  was  with  some  vexation,  therefore,  that,  feeling  for 
his  pistols  in  his  belt,  he  remembered  where  he  had  left  them.  It 
was  too  late  to  retrieve,  and  idle  to  lament  the  misfortune.  It  was 
only  iu  flight  that  it  could  be  lessened ;  and  he  took  his  measures 
accordingly. 

"  Tighten  your  girth,  Lance,  and  mount  quickly ;  we  shall  be 
pursued  shortly,  and  I  am  without  weapon  of  any  sort.  I  have 
.eft  my  sword  and  pistols  behind  me." 

M  Here  are  mine,  sir ;  they  are  small,  but  they've  got  a  good 
charge,  and  new  flints  both." 
13 


2P4  Tin-:  PARTISAN. 

"  Give  me  one  of  them,  quickly  now,  and  mounl.  \Ve  must  get, 
into  the  main  road,  if  we  can,  before  they  come  out  of  the  avenue;?; 
so  hasten,  hasten  but  hurry  not;  cool,  boy — cool." 

He  tightened  his  own  saddle-girth  as  lie  spoke;  took  on"  thai] 
handkerchief  that  encircled  his  neck,  and  thrust  it  into  his  pocket  ,•• 
then  Seeing  that  the  bey  was  mounted  and  ready,  lie  was  soon  in: 
saddle  himself. 

"Now  pick  the  way,  Lance;  speak  nothing,  but  keep  cool  and,] 
silent :  gently,  gently  at  first ;  let  us  send  them  as  few  sounds  as 
possible." 

The  boy,  with  goodly  promptitude,  obeyed  to  admiration.  Stait- 
iug  with  an  easy,  slow  motion,  they  emerged  from  the  heavy  oaks 
by  the  water's  side,  ascended  the  rising  ground,  and  skirted  along 
the  low  fence  which  girdled  one  corner  of  the  estate,  and  led  directly 
to  the  main  road.  The  track  was  sillily  a  negro  foot-path  ;  but  the 
evening  was  sufficiently  clear  to.  enable  them  to  trace  it  out  per 
fectly  and  keep  it  with  little  trouble.  "  We  shall  escape  them 
A  few  hundred  yards  more  will  give  us  a  fine  start,  boy,  and  that  ia 
all  I  care  for.  How  far  is  it  now  to  the  main  track  ?" 

"Not  far,  sir ;  just  ahead.  I  think  1  see  the  opening  in  the 
trees.  We  shall  soon  be  in  it.  Ha !  did  you  hear  a  noise,  sir— 
uow  ?" 

"  Yes :  they  are  in  saddle ;  they  are  after  us.  Push  on,  push 
on ;  we  have  little  time  to  waste." 

"  Yes,  sir,  that  they  are ;  and  if  I'm  not  very  much  mistaken, 
they  are  after  us  from  two  sides — down  on  our  trail,  and  coming 
out  from  the  avenue.  You  hear,  sir  ?  somebody  cried  out  from  tlm 
quarter  of  the  road,  and  we  hear  the  horses'  feet  from  the  river,  at 
the  same  time." 

"More  reason  for  speed,  far  more,  boy;  we  shall  have  to  trust 
entirely  to  that.  There  is  the  main  road,  arid  they  will  soon  secj 
us  on  it.  You  know  your  horse,  Lance — you  are  not  afraid  of  him  ?" 

"Afraid  of  him!  no,  sir,  that  I'm  not;  never  was  afraid  of  any 
horse  yet." 

"  Then  go  ahead  ;  strike  in  your  rowel,  and  spare  not.  There's' 
no  danger  in  front  of  you,  so  drive  on." 

This  little  dialogue   was  al    over  in   ;t  few  moments.     The  boy 


PURSUIT.  295 


2?'C  THE    PARTISAN. 

demeanour,  which,  looking  occasionally  behind  hiiu,  the  boy  could 
not  avoid  perceiving.  Singleton  caught  the,  *  movement  once  or 
twice ;  and,  at  length,  in  sharper  tones  than  usual,  addressed  him — 

"  Why  do  you  look  around,  sir  ?  are  you  afraid  f ' 

'*  No,  sir — oh  no  ! — I  don't  think  1  am — that  is  to  say but  1 

never  tried." 

"Tried  what?" 

"  To  fight  with  men,  sir,  and  to  shoot  them  ;  aud  I  don't  know, 
sir,  whether  I  should  be  afraid  or  not." 

Singleton  smiled ;  the  feeling  of  the  boy  rebuked  his  own,  as  it 
was  somewhat  boyish  also. 

"  Go  on,  sir ;  look  not  behind  you  again,  unless  you  would  have 
your  own  shoulders  rise  up  to  frighten  you.  And  you  may  urge 
your  nag  a  little  faster ;  those  fellows  are  now  out  of  the  bush,  and 
in  the  heavy  sand ;  you  will  soon  hear  them  on  the  ridge,  and  then 
they  will  have  the  same  clear  track  with  ourselves ;  go  on,  now,  and 
to  keep  you  from  looking  behind  you  more  frequently  than  is  need 
ful,  remember  that  I  am  between  you  and  danger.  Touch  up  your 
nag ;  let  him  feel  the  thorn,  and  be  lively." 

The  boy  felt  mortified  that  Singleton  should  think  that  he  looked 
round  from  apprehension  ;  and  thought  how  happy  he  should  be  to 
show  his  superior  that  he  was  not  afraid ;  but  without  a  word,  he 
did  as  he  was  directed — struck  the  spur  quickly  into  the  yet 
unbreathed  animal,  which  bounded  away  under  the  keen  impulse 
with  a  far  more  generous  movement. 

As  the  partisan  had  said,  the  pursuers  were  soon  upon  the  pine- 
land  track,  over  which  they  had  themselves  passed  but  recently. 
Proctor  led  them  with  an  earnestness  which  arose,  not  less  from  his 
own  estimate  of  the  value  of  the  game,  than  from  a  personal  feeling, 
if  not  interest,  which  he  seemed  to  entertain  in  the  arrest  of  Single 
ton.  He  had  preserved  his  temper,  under  great  provocation,  dealing 
with  Katharine  Walton  ;  but  he  remembered  with  bitterness  that  her 
sharp  sarcasms  had  been  uttered  in  defence  of  the  very  person  he 
pursued.  This  quickened  his  eagerness. 

As  he  entered  the  little  negro  trail  running  by  the  fence,  he 
heard  the  shout  of  the  party  from  the  avenue  below ;  and,  as  this 
•eemed  to  say  that  the  fugitive  was  within  his  reach,  a  new  impetus 


KEEN    CHASE,  297 

wa.1  given  to  his  exertions.  By  cliut  of  hard  riding  he  eoun  got  up 
with  the  party  which  led  off  the  pursuit;  and  the  spur  was  not 
spared  in  order  to  diminish  the  vantage  ground  which  the  partisan 
had  already  won,  in  the  space  thrown  between  them.  The  compo 
sure  and  coolness  of  the  Hight  tended  to  this  object  not  less  than  the 
speed  of  the  pursuers;  and  it' was  with  no  small  eatisfectkra  that 
Proctor  was  now  enabled  to  distinguish  the  regularly  recurring  tread 
of  the  flying  horses.  He  readily  imagined  that  Singleton  would 
put  his  animal  to  its  fullest  speed,  and  so  thinking,  he  did  not  doubt 
that  a  little  more  effort  must  result  in  their  overhauling  him  ;  believ 
ing  this,  he  shouted  encouragingly,  crying  out  to  his  men,  while 
bending  forward  with  all  speed  in  the  chase  himself — 

"  Five  guineas  to  the  man  who  first  lays  hands  on  the  rebel !  sf 
to  it,  men — he  cannot  now  escape  us.  We  gain  on  him  at  even 
leap,  his  horse  will  soon  be  breathed.  Heed  not  the  boy,  but  sea 
that  the  other  is  secure  at  all  hazards — alive  if  you  can  take  him, 
dead  if  he  resist  you :  we  must  have  him,  dead  or  alive ;  and  the 
reward  is  the  same.  On — on  !" 

A  cheer — a  hearty  cheer — thoroughly  English,  followed  this 
speech.  Five  guineas !  The  spell  was  potent.  Fiercely  did  they 
urge-  the  rowel  in  the  warming  flanks  of  their  chargers.  They  dashed 
headlong  through  the  thicket ;  they  wound  about  following  the 
sinuous  pathway,  and  at  length  found  themselves  upon  the  broad 
trace  over  which  Singleton  and  the  boy  were  riding.  Their  horses' 
feet  were  heard,  but  they  themselves  remained  unseen.  The  thick 
shadow  of  the  forest  lay  over  the  road  ahead,  and  under  its  friendly 
shelter  the  two  fugitives  were  then  speeding,  with  a  pace  somewhat 
quickened  in  obedience  to  the  necessity.  The  boy  wondered  at 
Singleton's  coolness  as  their  pursuers  drew  more  nigh.  He  knew 
not  the  recklessness  of  danger  which  follows  habitual  strife.  He 
heard  the  cries  of  the  pursuers  to  their  steeds.  He  remembered 
that  their  own  had  not  be<>n  forced,  and  he  felt  more  assured. 

"  Now,  boy — now  is  the  time  ;  they  are  drawing  nigher,  and  we 
may  as  well  leave  them  for  a  while.  Bend  to  it  and  keep  beside 
me."  * 

The  boy  did  as  he  was  bidden,  and  the  difference  was  soon  per 
ceptible  the  uoble  animals  sprang  off  with  all  the  elasticity  of 


298  THE    PARTISAN. 

freshness,  while  (hose  of  their  pursuers,  which  had  been  ridden  rapidh 
to  ''The  Oaks,"  and  then  as  rapidly  after  them,  failed, in  spite  of  the 
repeated  urging  of  their  riders,  to  increase  their  speed  a  second. 
Gradually,  the  sounds  grew  less  and  less  distinct  upon  their  ears,  and 
were  nearly  lost,  when  all  on  a  sudden,  and  quite  unexpectedly,  the 
steed  of  Singleton  stumbling  along  the  gronnd,  precipitated  his  rider 
clean  over  his  head.  The  boy  instantly  gathered  up  his  reins,  and 
leaped  from  his  animal  beside  him. 

"  Oh,  sir !  you  are  hurt !  I'm  afraid  you  are  hurt !"  was  his  pas 
sionate  exclamation,  as  he  approached  the  partisan. 

"A  little,  Lance — a  little;  but  I'm  afraid  Sorrel  is  hurt  a  great 
deal  more.  He  moves  with  difficulty." 

Singleton  rose  with  some  effort  from  the  ground.  He  had  been 
slightly  stunned  and  somewhat  bruised  by  the  fall ;  but  not  so  much 
as  to  incapacitate  him  from  movement.  He  approached  his  horse, 
which  had  also  risen  to  his  feet,  and  now  remained  trembling  upon 
the  spot  where  he  had  fallen.  Singleton  took  the  bridle  in  hand, 
and  led  him  off  a  few  paces.  This  was  sufficient  to  satisfy  him 
that  the  animal  was  too  much  lamed  to  yield  him  much  if  any  ser 
vice  in  the  flight  that  night.  The  danger  was  pressing,  as  in  the 
brief  time  occupied  by  the  event  recorded,  the  pursuing  party  had 
regained  the  ground,  and  something  more,  which,  in  the  increased 
speed  of  the  partisan,  they  had  previously  lost.  Singleton  at  once 
adopted  his  decision. 

"  Lauce,  you  must  mount  instantly  and  fly  ;  I'll  take  the  bush 
and  try  to  get  into  safe  cover.  There's  no  time  to  waste,  so  at  once 
about  it.  To  horse,  boy  ;  why  do  you  stand  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  it's  you  that's  wanted  in  camp,  not  me.  I  can  hide 
in  the  bush  just  as  well  as  you,  sir;  I'm  not  afraid !" 

"  Go  to,  my  poor  boy ;  go  to,  and  be  not  foolish  ;  do  as  you're 
'told,  and  no  trifling.  Know  you  not  that  if  they  take  you  they'll 
hang  you  to  the  tree  as  a  rebel  ?" 

"But,  sir,  they  will  h;ing  you  too — I  know  that;  and  I'm  small 
• — I  can  hide  better  in  the  bush  than  you." 

"  Answer  not,  bwt  do  as  I  have  told  you.  Mount  at  once  and 
fly,  cr  I  shoot  you  down  on  the  spot.  Go.  I  shall  save  myself." 

The  boy  obeyed  reluctantly,  and  it  was  high  tirue  that  he  should. 


BEATING   THE   BUSH.  299 

lie  had  barely  time  to  remount,  which  he  did  with  a  sad,  slow  motion 
when  he  heard  the  voices  of  the  pursuers,  who  in  all  this  while  had 
failed  to  hear  the  tread  of  the  fugitives.  The  boy  sped  quickly  on 
his  way,  while  Singleton,  leaving  the  lamed  horse  in  the  road,  not 
having  time  to  remove  him,  plunged  into  the  thick  woods  alongside, 
just  in  season  to  avoid  the  immediate  observation  of  the  pursuers- 
They  came  up  to  the  spot,  and  though  his  horse,  with  a  native 
instinct,  hobbled  forward  feebly,  as  it  were  to  escape  them,  they 
quiukly  surrounded  him,  and,  perceiving  his  condition,  at  once  con 
jectured  that  the  rider  was  in  the  neighbouring  woods.  The  voice 
of  Proctor  was  at  once  heard  with  the  promptest  order — 

"  Dismount,  fellows — dismount,  and  search  the  wood — he  must 
be  close  at  hand,  and  cannot  escape  us  if  you  look  well.  The 
woods  are  thin  and  open.  Five  guineas,  you  know,  dead  or  alive, 
to  the  man  that  first  takes  him." 

"  Ah  !  there's  a  chance  then,  for  a  choice  of  death,  at  least,"  said 
Singleton  to  himself,  bitterly,  as,  standing  immediately  beside  the 
road,  he  heard  the  sanguinary  order.  Ilis  hands  fingered  his  belt 
unconsciously,  where  the  pistols  had  been  placed,  and  he  cursed 
the  thoughtlessness  which  had  brought  him  off  from  the  dwelling 
without  having  first  secured  them.  But  he  made  up  his  mind 
to  resist  at  all  hazards,  weaponless  or  nut,  if  once  encountered.  Ue 
had  his  hope  of  escape,  however,  and  one  that  did  not  seem 
so  very  unreasonable.  Instead  of  rushing  off  into  the  woods, 
where,  from  the  lack  of  undergrowth,  he  might  have  been  dis 
covered  readily,  he  clung  to  the  luxuriant- brush,  the  product  of  a 
vigorous  sun  acting  freely  upon  it,  that  skirted  the  road.  The 
troopers  dismounted,  uli  but  Proctor  himself,  and  a  single  corporal. 
Supposing,  very  naturally,  that  the  fugitive  would  seek  to  embower 
himself  as  far  in  the  woods  as  possible,  the  troopers  scattered  them 
selves  over  too  large  a  surface ;  and  the  cries  and  clamour  of 
the  search  gradually  receded  from  the  highway. 

Proctor,  meanwhile,  accompanied  by  his  single  companion,  kept 
moving  to  and  fro  along  the  road ;  and  as  he  moved  down  the 
path,  a  new  prospect  of  escape  was  suggested  to  the  active  mind 
of  the  partisan.  The  horses  of  the  troopers  were  fastened  to  the 
swinging  boughs  uf  a  tree  only  a  lew  paces  distant.  Could  h« 


I 

SOO  THE    PARTISAN". 

roach  them  unheard  '  lie  looked  out,  ami  wnitcd  until  the  forms 
of  the  two  mounted  men  grew  more  indistinct  upon  the  road,  theij 
cautiously  skirting  the  track,  and  still  behind  the  bu*h,  he  ap 
proached  the  tree.  The  horses  heard  him,  but  did  not  whinny 
or  show  alarm  as  he  drew  nigh  ;  and  before  emerging  from  cover, 
he  sought  with  his  eye  to  determine  the  uag  of  best  speed  and 
bottom.  He  did  so — one  a  few  yards  distant  pleased  him  best,  and 
lie  anxiously  awaited  until  the  two  riders,  who  were  now  return 
ing,  should  again  wander  away  from  the  spot,  to  rush  out  and 
secure  him.  In  the  mean  while  the  hunt  of  the  troopers  continued 
in  the  wood.  The  dancing  shadows  of  the  starlight  occasionally 
deceived  them  into  hopes  of  the  fugitive — sometimes  the  persons 
of  one  another  ;  and  on  these  occasions  their  hurras  and  encourag 
ing  shouts  were  prodigious.  Proctor  passed  close  beside  the  tree  as 
he  came  up,  in  the  rear  of  which  Singleton  had  sheltered  himself. 
He  was  chafed  at  the  delay,  and  shouted  to  his  men  as  laggards, 
repeating  the  reward  offered,  and  in  his  tone  and  language  showing 
an  anxiety  to  capture  the  fugitive  which  could  not  well  be  ascribed 
to  his  love  for  his  king. 

"  He  must  be  there,  Corporal  Turner — he  could  not  have  gone 
far,  sir — but  a  moment  before  he  was  mounted,  and  we  heard  both 
horses  distinctly.  This  boast  is  Singleton's,  for  so  the  fellow  Blonay 
described  him — a  bright  sorrel,  with  long  tail,  and  a  white  blaze  on 
his  right  shoulder.  This  is  the  animal." 

"  It  is,  sir — the  very  nag  ;  and,  as  you  say,  sir,  he  cannot  have 
gone  far  into  the  bush,  if  he  went  in  at  all  ;  but  may  he  not,  sir, 
have  gone  double  with  the  boy  on  the  other  horse  f ' 

"  The  devil ! — yes — I  did  not  think  of  that ;  and  if  so,  we  have 
lo.-,t  him.  Damnation  ! — it  must  be  so." 

And  in  his  chagrin  Proctor  resumed  his  sauntering  ride  to  and 
fro  along  tin-,  high-road,  followed  by  the  corporal  at  a  little  distance. 
I  low  impatiently,  yet  cautiously,  did  the  partisan  look  forth  from  the 
bush,  watching  their  movements !  Satisfied  at  length  with  the  dis 
tance  thrown  between  them,  and  impelled  the  more  readily  to  action 
by  the  increasing  and  approaching  clamour  from  the  wood,  he  re 
solutely  advanced  from  his  cover,  and  with  a  most  marvellous  com- 
undid  the  loop  of  t ho  bridle  from  the  bough,  and  led  out 


FLIGHT    RESUMED.  301 

the  steed  which  his  e)Te  had  already  chosen.  .  It  was  a  broad 
chested,  strong-shouldered,  and  well  built  animal,  that,  under  ordi 
nary  circumstances,  would  have  been  admirably  well  calculated 
both  tor  flight  and  burden.  But  l.»o  had  been  hardly  ridden  thai 
night,  and  there  was  no  erectness  .n  his  head  and  neck — nothing 
elastic  in  his  tread — as  Singleton  led  him  out  from  the  group.  Bui 
there  was  no  time  to  be  lost  in  lamenting  this  misfortune.  Besides, 
his  condition  was  that  of  all  the  rest,  and  the  prospect  of  the  escape 
now  was  quite  as  good  as  that  of  the  pursuit.  In  an  instant  moro 
tjie  partisan  was  mounted — the  head  of  his  animal  turned  up  the 
road,  and,  with  a  single  glance  behind  him  to  note  the  distance 
of  his  enemy,  he  plied  the  s]  ur,  and  once  more  resumed  his  flight. 

"  What  is  that  ?"  cried  Proctor  to  the  corporal.  "  lla !  it  must  be 
.the  rebel ;  and,  by  Heaven  !  upon  one  of  our  own  horses.  Ride- 
ride,  sir — after  him  with  me,  and  he  shall  not  escape  us  yet — my 
horse  is  too  good  for  any  he  could  get  from  that  pack,  and  I  can 
soon  overhaul  him.  Sound,  sir,  sound  for  the  men  to  saddle  ;  and 
follow — sound,  sir,  and  follow." 

His  oixlers  were  given  with  a  rapidity  almost  emulating  his 
horse's  speed.  Vexation  at  being  so  foiled,  anger  at  the  cause,  and 
a  sense  of  his  duty — to  say  nothing  of  motives  and  feelings  working 
in  his  bosom,  which  Proctor  did  not  dare  to  analyse — all  combined 
to  stimulate  the  Briton  to  the  most  hearty  endeavours.  His  sloe  1 
went  over  the  ground  like  an  arrow,  while  the  corporal  wound  -'iis 
bugle,  calling  up  the  wandering  troopers  dispersed  about  the  wood. 
His  animal  failed  utterly  to  keep  up  with  that  of  his  commander, 
and  Proctor  had  the  satisfaction  to  perceive  that  he  gained  upon 
the  fugitive.  Singleton  was  soon  conscious  of  this  fact,  and  seeing 
there  was  but  one  enemy,  he  began  to  calculate  the  necessity  of  a 
conflict  at  all  hazards,  almost  without  a  weapon,  and  trusting  only 
to  a  proper  management  of  his  steed  to  foil  and  overthrow  that  of 
his  pursuer.  He  was  a  famous  horseman,  and  knew  most  of  ilia 
arls  by  which  this  might  be  accomplished.  His  calculations 
became  momently  more  and  moiv  necessary.  The  closer  tramp  of 
the  pursuing  steed  was  now  sharply  in  his  ears,  and  he  had  already 
meditated  a  sudden  turn  upon  him  as  soon  as  hi]  should  reach  the 
top  of  that  slight  elevation  of  land  to  which  he  was  fast  speeding. 
13* 


802  THE    PARTISAN. 

This  would  give  him  an  advantage  in  descending  upon  the  uptoil- 
ing  charger.  With  this  purpose,  he  gathered  up  the  reins  with 
a  firm  but  not  a  close  grasp  upon  the  animal,  as  his  object  was  not 
by  any  means  to  restrain  him  ;  he  placed  his  feet  firmly  in  the 
stirrups,  which  he  threw  close  under  the  belly  of  the  steed,  wrap 
ping  his  legs,  as  it  were,  around  him ;  then,  crouching  forward 
upon  the  saddle,  he  awaited  the  proper  moment  for  the  contem 
plated  evolution.  The  pursuer  carne  on  with  a  reckless,  unrestrain- 
able  motion,  and  had  already  begun  to  move  along  the  elevation, 
when  he  drew  the  curb  so  suddenly  upon  his  horse's  mouth  as 
almost  to  throw  him  back  upon  his  haunches. 

Both  parties  were  suddenly  arrested  in  their  plans  and  pro 
gresses.  The  rush  of  a  troop  in  front  was  in  their  ears,  with  the 
cry  of  many  voices.  The  partisan  looked  forward,  and  wondered, 
dreading  to  find  himself  between  two  enemies ;  but  the  next 
moment  reassured  him,  as  he  heard  the  voice  of  the  boy,  Frampton, 
who  was  evidently  in  advance  of  the  new-comers. 

"  Here  they  are  !  here  they  are,  Colonel  Walton  !  They  have 
killed  the  major !  shew  'em  no  quarter ! — cut  'em  down — cut  'em 
down  !  There's  not  many  of  them." 

"  Back,  boy  !  keep  from  the  track  !— to  the  rear,  to  the  rear !" 
cried  the  individual  in  command  of  the  new-comers,  while  waving 
his  sword  and  advancing  towards  Singleton.  The  partisan  cried 
out  to  his  uncle  in  the  next  moment — 

"  Ha !  a  friend  in  need,  good  uncle !  I  shall  remember  the  pro 
verb."  And,  without  a  word  farther,  he  wheeled  in  with  the 
advancing  troop,  which  consisted  of  a  little  party  of  volunteers 
pledged  to  go  out  with  Walton. 

Proctor  was  near  enough  to  hear  the  dialogue  and  to  understand 
the  danger.  It  was  now  his  turn  to  fly,  and  he  delayed  not  a  mo 
ment  in  the  endeavour  to  do  so.  But  the  troop  of  Walton,  com 
paratively  fresh — for  they  had  just  started  forth  from  their  place  of 
assemblage  near  the  Cross  Roads  when  they  met  with  Lance — was 
down  upon  him  in  an  instant.  Proctor  bravely  threw  himself  for 
ward  upon  the  first  trooper  that  approached  him,  and  his  sword 
flashed  back  defiance  upon  them,  while  his  voice  shouted  encourag 
ingly — as  if  it  could  have  been  heard — to  his  men,  who  were  now 


THE    HKXCOtJNTER. 

approaching,  though  not  yet  in  sight.  They  certainly  could  not 
have  coine  up  in  time  to  save  him,  had  Walton  pressed  the  assault; 
but  that  gentleman  disdained  the  advantages  which  were  in  hid 
grasp. 

>:  Forbear,  Major  Proctor,"  he  said,  mildly  and  respectfully,  as  he 
rode,  up  in  front  of  his  enemy.  "We  purpose  you -no  harm  at  thia 
moment.  You  are  free  to  return  to  your  troop.  When  we  meet, 
sir,  again  in  strife,  there  will  be  no  surprise  on  either  side,  and  our 
several  positions  will  then  be  understood." 

"  Colonel  Walton,"  replied  the  Briton,  "  I  bitterly  regret  to  see 
vou  thus — espousing  a  cause  so  indefensible  and  hopeless." 

"  Neither  indefensible  nor  hopeless,  sir,  as  you  shall  see  in  time. 
But  there  is  no  need  of  comment  here.  1  forbear  all  the  advan 
tages  of  the  present  moment,  as  I  am  unwilling  that  you  should 
think  I  have  played  the  hypocrite  to  deceive  you  thus  to  your 
ruin.  You  have  forborne,  sir,  heretofore,  in  your  treatment  of  my 
house — your  intentions  have  been  friendly  :  permit  me,  sir,  to  re 
quite  them  as  1  do  now.  You  are  at  liberty.  Farewell,  sir.  The 
terms  of  our  meeting,  henceforward,  must  accord  with  those  exist 
ing  between  my  country  and  yours — peace  or  war!  peace  or  war! 
Farewell,  sir." 

Proctor,  chagrined  at  his  disappointment,  was  nevertheless  highly 
touched  with  the  courtesy  of  his  new  enemy.  In  a  few  brief  \\<>rda 
he  uttered  his  acknowledgments,  and  turned  back  to  meet  his 
troop,  with  a  bitter  spirit,  sore  on  many  accounts.  His  present 
hope  of  Katharine  was  evidently  at  an  end  ;  and,  feeling  towards 
her  as  he  did,  how  painful  was  the  new  position  in  which  he  stood 
to  her  father!  The  subject  distressed  him ;  and  he  stiove,  by  a  mo 
tion  as  rapid  as  that  of  the  pursuit,  to  escape  from  thoughts  too 
little  calculated  to  yield  him  satisfaction  to  win  him  to  their  indul 
gence.  The  parties  were  separated ;  the  one  on  its  way  back  to  the 
garrison ;  the  other,  somewhat  more  imposing  from  its  new  aequi 
bition  of  force,  speeding  boldly  for  the  Cypress  Swamp. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

"  1  take  the  naud  of  my  fierce  enemy 
In  a  true  pledge — a  pledge  of  earnest  faith 
I  fain  would  seal  in  blood — his  blood  or  mine." 

WHILE  the  events  which  we  have  just,  recorded  had  been  going 
on  in  one  quarter,  others  not  less  imposing,  though  perhaps  !e.\s 
important  to  the  partisans,  had  taken  place  in  the  swamp.  There, 
as  we  remember,  Humphries,  after  the  escape  of  (Joggle,  had  be 
stowed  his  men  in  safety.  Deeply  mortified  by  that  occurrence,  tliu 
lieutenant  had  been  more  than  usually  careful  of  his  remaining  pri 
soners,  as  well  as  of  his  appointments  at  the  camp.  The  fires  had 
been  w  Jl  lighted,  the  several  watches  duly  set,  and  all  preparations 
were  in  even  progress  for  the  quiet  passage  of  the  night. 

To  John  Davis  much  of  these  matters  had  been  given  in  chai  ;];:>, 
and,  in  their  proper  execution,  he  approved  himself  the  same  trusty 
soldier  that  we  have  elsewhere  found  him.  The  prisoners  were  put 
entirely  and  particularly  under  his  direction  ;  and  having  placed 
them  separately,  each  securely  tied,  in  the  little  bark  huts  which 
were  scattered  about  the  island,  through  the  co-operation  and  con 
tinued  presence  of  the  sentries  closely  set  around  them,  their  custody 
was  quite  as  complete  as,  under  existing  circumstances,  it,  could 
possibly  have  been  made. 

Such,  among  others,  was  the  condition  of  the  luckless  Hastings. 
His  hut  was  isolated  from  the  rest,  and  stood,  on  the  very  edge  of 
the  island,  upon  a  slight  elevation.  Tied,  hand  and  foot,  with  cords 
too  stout  for  his  strength,  he  lay  upon  a  pile  of  rushes  in  the  corner 
of  his  cabin,  musing,  doubtless,  like  most  of  his  fellows  who  have 
experienced  a  sudden  reverse,  upon  the  vexatious  instability  of  for 
tune.  Nor  did  his  musings  prompt  him  at  all  times  to  that  dud 
resignation  which  a  proper  course  of  reflection,  in  such  a  case,  would 
be  most  usually  stpt  to  occasion.  He  suffered  himself  to  be  too 
miieh  disquieted  by  his  thinking;  and,  at  such  moments,  s^kiug  to 


NIGHT    WATCH.  305 

elevate  himself  from  his  prostrate  condition,  he  would  lose  his  ba 
lance,  and  roll  away  from  his  place,  like  a  ball  under  some  foreign 
compulsion.  A  few  feeble  efforts  at  release,  resulting  always  in  the 
same  way,  taught  him  at  last  to  remain  in  quiet,  though,  had  he 
known  the  fate  of  Sergeant  dough,  upon  whose  bed  of  death  he  now 
Jay  at  length,  his  reflections,  most  probably,  would  have  been  far 
less  satisfactory  than  even  now  lie  found  them. 

They  were  far  from  agreeable.  The  sergeant  chewed  but  the  cud 
of  bitter  fancy  ;  the  sweet  was  all  denied  him  in  his  dungeon  of  bark. 
He  could  not  misunderstand  or  mistake  the  dangers  of  his  position. 
He  was  the  prisoner  of  the  man  he  had  striven  to  wrong  in  the 
tniderest  part ;  he  beheld  the  authority  which  that  man  exercised 
over  those  around  him ;  he  well  knew  the  summary  character  of  the 
times,  which  sanctioned  so  frequently  the  short  shrift  and  sudden 
cord  ;  and,  considering  himself  reserved  for  some  such  fearful  mode 
of  exit,  as  the  meditative  vengeance  of  Humphries  might  best  deter 
mine,  he  bitterly  denounced  his  own  evil  fortune,  which  had  thus 
suffered  him  to  be  entrapped.  He  writhed  about  among  his  rushes, 
as  these  thoughts  came  more  vividly  to  his  mind ;  and  despair  of 
•-scape  at  length  brought  him  a  certain  degree  of  composure,  if  not 
of  resignation.  He  drew  up  his  knees,  turned  his  face  to  the  dark 
wall,  and  strove  to  forget  his  predicament  in  the  kindly  arms  of 
sleep. 

Yet  there  was  hope  for  hirn  at  hand — hope  of  a  change  of  condi 
tion  ;  and  any  change  was  full  of  promise  to  Hastings.  The  hope 
which  had  been  partially  held  out  to  him  by  Davis,  before  con 
ducting  him  to  the  swamp,  was  now  about  to  be  realized.  The 
watches  had  all  been  set,  Humphries  himself  had  retired  ;  and,  apart 
from  the  sentries,  but  a  single  trooper  was  visible  upon,  the  island, 
in  the  centre  of  which,  by  a  blazing  fire,  he  stood,  with  one  foot  of 
his  horse  over  his  knee,  from  the  quick  of  which  he  was  striving 
hard,  with  hook  and  hammer,  to  extract  a  pebble. 

From  his  couch  of  pine  brush,  under  the  dark  shadow  of  a  tree, 
Davis  looked  forth,  momently  and  anxious,  upon  the  horseman. 
At.  length  the  latter  proved  successful.  The  horse  was  led  away  to 
the  end  of  the  island,  and,  after  a  little  while,  the  trooper  himself 
had  disappeared.  With  the  exception  of  the  sentries,  all  of  whom 


306  THE    PARTISAN. 

• 

Dans  himself  had  placed,  the  partisans  had  each  taken  the  sheltei 
of  his  greenwood  tree.  Some  were  pillowed  here,  some  there,  ic 
little  clusters  of  two  or  three,  their  heads  upon  their  saddles,  theit 
hands  clutching  fast  the  rifle  or  broadsword,  and  the  bridle  hanging 
above,  ready  for  sudden  employment.  Sometimes,  a  solitary  troopei 
stretched  himself  alone,  under  a  remoter  shelter,  and  enjoyed  to. 
iiiiuself  those  solacing  slumbers  which  it  is  always  so  pleasant  to 
share. 

With  the  perfect  quiet  of  all  things  around  him,  Davis  rose  from 
liis  own  place  of  repose.  He  cautiously  surveyed  the  course  he  pro 
posed  to  take,  and  stealing  carefully  from  the  inclining  shadow  of 
one  tree  to  that  of  another,  he  approached  unobserved  the  hut  of 
Sergeant  Hastings.  The  sentinel  was  prompt. 

"  Ho  !— stand— the  word  !" 

'•  Continental  Congress  !  It's  a  big  word,  Ralph  Mason,  and  hard 
to  come  at;  the  more  so  when  it's  a  quick  sentry  like  you,  that 
doesn't  give  a  body  time  to  look  it  up.  But  that  aint  much  of  a 
fault,  any  how,  in  a  soldier.  Better  too  quick  than  too  slow,  and 
(he  good  sentry  is  more  to  the  troop  than  the  good  horse,  though 
the  one  may  carry  him  ofl  when  the  tories  are  upon  him  in  double 
quick  time.  You  can  go  now,  Ralph  ;  go  to  my  straw,  and  you 
can  lie  down  till  I  come  to  wake  you  up.  I'm  to  ax  the  prisoner 
here  some  questions." 

(Jlad  of  this  relief,  the  sentinel  made  his  acknowledgments  to  liia 
superior,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  avail  himself  of  the  proposed 
luxury.  Taking  his  place  for  a  moment,  to  and  fro  before  the  door 
of  the  hut,  the  Goose  Creeker  employed  the  time  between  tin* 
departure  of  the  sentinel,  and  his  probable  attainment  of  the  bc<l  of 
rushes  to  which  he  had  assigned  him,  in  the  meditation  of  that  plan 
which  his  mind  had  partially  conceived,  while  escorting  his  prisoners 
to  the  swamp,  and  of  which  he  had  given  a  brief  hint  to  Hastings 
himself; — a  plan  which  promised  him  that  satisfaction  for  his  pre 
vious  injuries  at  the  hands  of  Hastings,  which  his  excited,  feelings, 
if  not  a  high  sense  of  honour,  had  long  insisted  upon  as  necessary 
to  his  comfort.  The  present  time  seemed  a  fitting  one  for  his  pur 
pose  ;  and  the  opportunity  which  it  offered,  as  it  might  not  occur 
again,  was  quite  too  good  lo  be  lost. 


ON    HIS    BACK.  307 

flavimr  properly  deliberated,  he  put  aside  ilie  bushes  which  hung 
partially  across  the  entrance,  and  at  once  passed  into  the  hut  of  the 
prisoner.  Hastings  was  not  asleep,  and  started  hastily  at  the 
intrusion.  His  vorst  fears  grew  active,  as  he  saw  the  figure  of 
one  before  him,  whom,  in  the  dimness  of  the  place,  he  could  not 
iistinguish.  He  could  only  think  of  Humphries,  and  his  breathing 
was  thick  ami  rapid,  as  he  anticipated,  each  moment,  some  fearful 
doom  at  the  hands  of  the  avenger.  His  tones  were  hurried,  as 
:ie  demanded — 

"  Who's  there  ? — speak ! — what  would  you  ?" 

"  Don't  be  scared,  Sergeant  Hastings ;  it's  me,  John  Davis — him 
hey  call  Prickly  Ash,  of  Goose  Greek.  Mayhap  you  may  rcmem- 
>er  sich  a  person.  I  'm  that  man." 

[fastings  rather  freely  avowed  his  recollection. 

"Well,  I'm  mighty  glad  you're  not  asleep,  as  I  didn't  want 
o  put  hands  on  you  for  any  business  but  one,  and  that's  the  one  1 
;ome  to  see  you  about  now.  You're  sure,  now,  Sergeant  Hastings, 

u're  wide  awake,  and  able  to  talk  about  business." 

The  reply  was  in  the  gentlest  and  most  conciliatory  language. 
I'he  tones  were  singularly  musical,  indeed,  for  a  throat  so  harsh  as 
iat  which  Davis  formerly  knew  in  possession  of  the  same  person  ; 
and  the  sigh-like  utterance  which  told  the  partisan  that  he  was  all 
attention,  contrasted  oddly,  in  the  thoughts  of  Davis,  with  those 
notes  which  he  had  been  taught  hitherto  to  hear  from  the  same 
juarter. 

"  Well,  if  you're  wide  awake,  Sergeant  Hastings,  I  Ve  some  talk 
or  you  that  maybe  you'll  be  glad  enough  to  hear,  for  it  consarns 
iotli  you  and  me  a  little." 

"  Any  thing,  Mister  Davis — any  thing  you  have  to  say,  I  shall  be 
iappy,  very  happy,  to  listen  to." 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  other  ;  "  that's  very  good,  and  I  'in  mighty 
ad  to  see  you've  got.  your  mind  made  up  as  to  what's  to  con  in  : 
ind  so,  since  you're  ready  to  hear,  I'm  cocked  and  primed  to  speak, 
and  the  sooner  F  begin  the  better.  Now,  Sergeant  Hastings,  mind 
what  I  say,  and  don't  let  any  of  my  words  go  into  one  ear  and  om 
of  the  other.  Thev're  all  words  that  cost  something,  and 


808  THE   PARTISAN. 

thing's  to  be  paid  for  them  in  the  eeud.  I  give  you  this  warning, 
as  it  aint  fair  to  take  a  man  onawares." 

Hastings  modestly  promised  due  heedfulness,  and  the  other  pro 
ceeded  as  follows : — 

"  You  see,  then,  Sergeant  Hastings,  you're  not  in  garrison  now  ; 
ycu're  not  at  the  Royal  George,  nor  in  any  of  them  plao'es  where  I 
used  to  see  you,  with  the  red-coats,  and  them  lickspittles  the  tones, 
all  about  you,  ready  to  back  you  agin  their  own  countrymen,  whe 
ther  you're  right  or  wrong.  You're  turned  now,  as  I  may  say,  on 
the  flat  of  your  back,  like  a  yellow-belly  cooler,  and  nobody  here  to 
set  you  on  your  legs  agin,  but  me,  and  me  your  inimy." 

Hastings  sullenly  and  sadly  assented  to  the  truth  of  this  picture, 
in  a  groan  which  he  accompanied  by  a  writhing  motion  of  the  body 
that  turned  his  face  completely  away  from  the  speaker. 

"  You  needn't  turn  your  back,  Sergeant  Hastings  ;  it's  no  part 
of  a  gentleman  to  do  so :  but  jist  listen  a  bit  to  the  God's  truth, 
and  you'll  larn  a  little  civility,  if  so  be  it's  in  your  skin  to  larn  any 
thing  that's  good.  You  see,  now,  the  game  goes  agin  you — 
the  cards  is  shuffled,  and  trumps  is  changed  hands.  You're  in 
as  bad  a  fix,  now,  as  if  you  was  at  old  sledge,  and  all  seven  up  was 
scored  down  agin  you.  You're  not  cock  of  the  walk. any  longer; 
you  aint  where  you  can  draw  sword  agin  a  man  that's  got  none, 
and  have  a  gang  of  chaps  to  look  on,  and  not  ax  for  fair  play. 
There's  some  chance  now  for  a  small  man,  and  I  reckon  you  feels 
the  difference." 

A  sullen  response  from  Hastings,  who — though  irritated  greatly, 
thought  it  the  wiser  policy  not  to  appear  so — acknowledged  the 
correctness  of  what  his  companion  had  said. 

"  But  don't  think,"  the  other  proceeded — "  don't  think,  Sergeant 
Hastings,  that  I  come  to  crow  over  you  in  your  misfortunes.  No  ! 
dang  it,  I'm  not  the  lad  to  take  advantage  of  any  man  in  his 
troubles,  even  though  I  despise  him  as  I  despise  you.  1  'ni  for  fair 
play  all  the  world  over,  and  that's  the  reason  why  I  come  to  you 
now." 

"  What  would  you  have,  Mister  Davis  ?"  inquired  the  sergeant, 
•vith  something  of  his  old  dignity  of  manner. 


PLAIN   SPEAKING.  809 

"  Well,  that's  a  civil  question  enough,  and  desarves  a  civil 
answer.  You  ax  me  what  I  will  have.  I'll  tell  you  after  a  bit; 
but  there's  something,  tou  see,  that's  like  a  sort  of  history,  and,  if 
you'll  listen,  I  '11  take  leave  to  put  that  afore  it." 

"  Go  on,  Mister  Davis  ;  I  shall  be  glad  to  bear  you." 

"  Well,  1  don't  know  that  for  certain  ;  but  we'll  see  how  glad 
you  are  as  we  git  on  iu  the  business.  What  I've  got  to  say  won't 
take  long,  though  I  must  begin  at  the  beginning,  or  you  mightn't 
BO  well  understand  it.  It's  now  going  on  nine  or  ten  years  since 
old  Dick  Humphries — that's  the  father  of  Bella — first  come  into 
our  parts,  and  made  acquaintance  with  our  people.  Bella  %vas  a 
little  girl  at  that  time;  but  from  that  time  I  took  to  her,  and  she 
sort-a-took  to  me.  The  more  we  know'd,  the  more  we  liked  one 
another.  I  can  say  for  myself,  I  never  liked  anybody  half  so  well 
as  I  liked  her.  Well,  everybody  said  it  was  a  match,  and  Bella 
seemed  willing  enough  till  the  war  broke  out,  and  you  came  into 
our  parts,  with  your  red  coats,  and  flashy  buttons,  and  topknots; 
and  then  everything  was  at  odds  and  ends,  and  there  was  no  living 
with  the  gal  at  all.  Her  head  got  turned  with  your  flummery,  and 
a  plain  lad  like  myself  stood  no  chance." 

"  Well,  but,  Mister  Davis,  that  was  no  fault  of  mine,  if  the  girl 
was  foolish." 

"Look  you,- -no  ill  words  about  the  gal;  becase,  dang  it,  I 
don't  stand  it.  She  may  be  foolish,  but  you  ha'vnt  any  right  yet, 
that  I  can  see,  to  call  her  so;  and  it's  more  shame  if  you  do,  seeing 
that  it's  all  on  your  account  that  she  is  so." 

"I  mean  no  harm — no  offence,  Mister  Davis." 

"  Well,  well,  I  aint  taking  any  harm  and  any  offence  at  that. 
I  only  want  to  'mind  you  to  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head  when 
you  talk  of  Bella  ;  for,  though  she  shies  away  froa-  me,  and  I  stand 
no  chance  with  her,  and  the  game's  all  clear  done  atween  us,  1 
won't  hear  anything  said  to  her  disparagement;  and  it  will  bo 
mighty  ridiculous  for  you  if  you  say  it.  I'm  trying  to  speak  to  you 
civilly,  and  without  getting  in  a  passion — and  it's  not  so  easy — for 
you're  my  prisoner,. you  see;  and  it's  not  the  part  of  a  gentleman 
to  say  ugly  things  to  a  man  that  can't  help  himself;  but.  it's  in  the 
way  of  what  I've  got  to  tell  you,  and  you'll  be  good-natured  aiid 


810  THE    PARTISAN. 

excuse  it,  if  I  sometimes  graze  upon  a  part  of  you  that's  sore,  and 
say  sich  words  in  your  hearing,  as  makes  you  feel  like  a  rascal, 
and  if  I  don't  stop  to  pick  what  words  I  shall  say  it  in.  But  that's 
neither  here  nor  there  ;  and  I  may  as  well  go  on  with  what  1  was 
saying.  Bella  took  a  liking  to  you,  and  to  your  coat,  and  buttons 
— monstrous  little  else,  Sergeant  Hastings,  now,  I  tell  you,  for  the 
gal  has  sense  enough  to  see  that  you're  not  the  properest  looking 
chap,  nor  the  finest, ..nor  the  best-uatured,  that  comes  into  lhes>.> 
parts.  But  it  was  the  showy  buttons  and  the  rod  clothes — the  !>;.; 
feather,  and — I  don't  want  to  say  it,  Sergeant  Hastings,  becasc, 
as  I  said  before,  you're  my  prisoner,  and  it's  not  genteel  to  say  ugh 
things  to  one's  prisoner  ;  but  my  mother  always  trained  me  to  have 
an  ambition  for  truth,  and  a  man's  not  a  gentleman  if  he  doesn't 
speak  it ;  so  that's  the  reason,  you  see,  that  makes  me  tell  you  that, 
it  was  partly  because  you  were  so  flashy,  and  so  impudent,  and  had 
such  a  big  way  about  you,  that  took  in  the  poor  gal  at  first,  and 
that  takes  in  so  many  that  ought  to  know  better.  It  was  your 
impudence,  you  see,  sergeant — that  was  it ;  and,  as  sure  as  there's 
snakes,  she'll  get  tired  of  you,  you  can't  reckon  how  fast,  if  she  once 
gets  you  for  a  husband." 

"  But  that  she'll  never  do,  Mister  Davis ; — oh,  no,  leave  me  alone 
for  that.  I'm  no  fool,  I  can  tell  you.  It's  the  young  bird  only 
that's  to  be  caught  by  the  chaff." 

"Chaff! — well,  you  can't  mean  to  say  that  Bella  Humphries  is 
chaff;  but  do  you  mean  that  you  won't  marry  her — and  the  gal  so 
loves  you  too  ?"  The  astonishment  of  Davis  was  conspicuous  in  his 
emphasis. 

"  Marry  her,  indeed  !  No,  I  thank  ye  !  I  never  thought  of  such 
a  thing  !"  was  the  contemptuous  reply  of  the  prisoner. 

"  Now,  dang  it,  Sergeant  Hastings,  but  I  do  despise  you  more 
than  a  polecat.  You're  a  poor,  mean  skunk,  and  a  dirty  varmint, 
that's  only  fit  for  killing ;  and  I've  the  heart  to  do  it  now,  on  the 
spot,  I  tell  you ;  but  I  won't,  for  you're  my  prisoner." 

The  indignation  of  Davis  was  kept  down  with  difficulty  ;  and 
Hastings,  lacking  entirely  that  delicacy  which  should  have  taught 
him  that  the  considerations  of  his  rival,  in  what  he  had  said,  had 
been  singularly  unselfish,  only  made  the  matter  worse  by  under- 


FAIR   FIELD   AND   NO   FAVOR.  311 

taking  to  assure  him  that  his  determination  had  been  made,  the 
better  to  open  the  way  for  himself  in  the  renewal  of  his  addresses. 
Tins  assurance  neither  deceived  nor  satisfied  the  lieutenant;  and  his 
words,  though  cool,  were  very  bitter,  and  solemnly  urged. 

"  You're  a  shoat,  a  mean  shoat,  Sergeant  Hastings ;  and  if  I  had 
nothing  else  to  hate  you  for,  I  should  hate  you  mighty  long  and 
heartily  for  that.  But  it's  no  use  talking ;  and  the  sooner  we  stop 
the  better.  Now,  can  you -guess  what  I  come  to  you  for  to-night  ?" 

"  I  cannot — no — what  ?" 

"To  set  you  free;  to  cut  your  ropes;  put  you  on  a  clear  track, 
and  mount  you  on  a  nag  that'll  take  you  into  Dorchester  in  a  short 
hour  and  a  half,  free  riding.  I  told  you  T  would  do  it.  I  will  keep 
my  word." 

"  Indeed  !     Do  I  hear  you,  Mister  Davis  ?  my  dear  friend — ' 

"  No  friend^  I  thank  you — no  friend,  but  a  bitter  inimy,  that 
won't  do  nothing  for  you  without  the  pay.  I  will  do  all  this  for 
you,  as  I  have  said,  but' there's  something  I  ax  for  it  in  return." 

"What!  speak!  aye!  What  price?  name  your  reward,  sir, 
and—" 

"  I  will — only  be  quiet  and  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head 
while  I  tell  you.  You've  put  the  flat  of  your  sword  to  my  shoulder, 
Sergeant  Hastings,  when  1  had  none  to  lift  up  agin  you  ;  that's  to 
be  paid  for.  You've  come  between  me  and  the  gal  I  had  a  liking 
for,  ever  since  I  was  a  boy ;  that's  to  be  paid  for.  You  tried  to  git 
her  to  like  you,  and  then  you  laugh  at  her  liking ;  and  that's  to  be 
paid  for  too.  No.r,  can  you  reckon  up  what'll  best  pay  for  these 
matters  '?" 

The  sergeant  was  silent ;  the  other  continued — 

"  I'll  tell  you.  A  fair  fight,  as  you  promised  me — a  fair  fight 
with  broadswords,  in  a  clean  track,  and  no  witnesses  but  them  there 
bright  stars,  and  the  round  moon  that'll  soon  be  rising  up  to  give 
IKS  enough  light  to  do  our  business." 

"  I'm  willing,  Mister  Davis  ;  but  I've  no  sword,  and  I'm  tied  here 
as  you  see." 

"  Never  be  a  bit  afeard.  I'll  come  in  an  hour,  and  I'll  cut  your 
cords.  Fll  carry  you  out  to  the  skairts  of  the  swamp,  where  the 
clear  uioou  will  look  down  upon  us.  I'll  hitch  a  stout  horse  to  lh« 


312  THE    PARTISAN. 

hanging  bough  ;  and  it  shall  stand  in  sight  waiting  for  you,  the  mo 
ment  you  get  clear  from  me.  I'll  give  you  the  pick  of  a  pair  of 
swords,  which  shall  lie  flat  upon  the  airth  before  you  ;  and  you 
shall  then  give  me  satisfaction  for  all  them  there  matters  that  T  tell 
ye  of.  You're  a  bigger  man  than  me  ;  you're  used  to  the  broad 
sword  :  I  can  handle  it  too,  though  I  does  it  rough  and  tumble,  and 
had  no  schooling  in  the  we'pon ;  and  you  shall  have  as  fair  a  chance 
as  ever  you  had  in  all  your  born  days  before.  And  that's  the  orler 
I  make  you.  Only  say  the  word,  and  I'll  go  to  the  spot — carry  out 
the  horse — carry  out  the  swords,  and  send  the  sentries  off  from  the 
track  where  I  shall  take  you." 

The  proposition  took  Hastings  by  surprise.  He  was  no  coward  ; 
but,  under  existing  circumstances,  he  would  rather  have  avoided  the 
encounter  in  the  novel  shape  which  it  now  put  on.  Yet,  as  he  re 
flected,  he  grew  more  and  more  satisfied  with  the  plan.  He  had 
manifestly  all  the  advantages  of  strength,  and  personal  knowledge 
and  practice  of  the  weapon  ;  and  his  apprehensions  of  Humphries 
were  too  great  not  to  desire  to  escape  at  all  hazards  from  his 
clutches.  Guilt  made  a  coward  of  him,  as  he  thought  of  Bella's 
brother,  and  as  he  remembered  how  completely  he  had  been  un 
masked  before  him.  In  a  few  moments  he  had  determined  upon 
his  answer,  and  the  Goose  Creeker  rejoiced  to  find  it  in  the  affirm 
ative. 

"  It's  a  bargain,  then,"  said  Davis — "  you  swear  to  it  ?" 

"  I  do :  I  will  go  with  you.  Get  all  things  ready,  as  jou  hare 
eaid,  and  I  will  fight  you  whenever  you  please." 

"  Well,  now,  that's  what  I  like ;  and  I'm  glad  to  find  you're  so 
much  a  man.  after  all.  Keep  quiet  while  I'm  gone,  and  when  the 
horse  is  clear  upon  the  skairt  of  the  swamp,  I'll  come  to  you  and 
eet  you  loose ;  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  follow — nobody  will  see 
us;  but  you  must  be  shy  how  you  speak.  Only  follow,  that's 
all." 

Saying  these  words,  Davis  departed  from  the  hut.  As  he 
emerged  from  its  entrance,  he  was  startled  to  hear  the  wild  laugh 
of  the  maniac  Frampton,  as  he  bounded  away  from  the  immediate 
neighbourhood.  Frampton  had  evidently  been  a  listener.  But 
Davis  waa  too  much  absorbed  in  the  affair  before  him,  to  giv«  mu«b 


THE    MANIAC    SPY.  313 

Lend  to  an  interruption  so  slight,  and  hurrying  a\v;iy,  without,  farther 
hindrance,  proceeded  to  the  execution  of  the  devised  plan. 

The  plan  had  all  been  hoard  by  the  watchful  ears  of  the  maniac. 
Crawling  to  the  hut  of  Hastings,  as  once  before  he  had  done,  when 
differently  occupied,  he  was  about  to  lift  the  birch  cover  from  the 
rear,  probably  with  the  same  murderous  intent  which  he  had  before 
put  into  execution,  when  the  approach  and  entrance  of  Davis  had 
compelled  him  to  be  quiet.  Concealed  in  the  edges  of  the  hut,  and 
well  covered  by  its  shadow,  he  had  lain  close  and  heard  every  syl 
lable  of  the  preceding  dialogue.  A  strange  purpose  took  posses 
sion  of  his  unsettled  mind  while  he  listened ;  and  when  Davis  left 
the  hovel,  he  ran  off  howling  and  laughing  with  the  fancied  accom 
plishment,  before  his  eyes,  of  that  new  scheme  which,  with  all  that 
caprice  which  marks  the  diseased  intellect,  had  now  so  suddenly 
superseded  the  original  object  which  he  had  in  view.  Hastings, 
meanwhile,  with  as  much  philosophy  as  he  was  master  of,  stiove  to 
seasoa  his  thoughts  fo-  the  events  which  were  at  hand. 


CHAPTER    XXX 

"  Such  the  wild  purpose  uf  degenerate  man. 
Vex'd  by  injustice  into  greater  wrong — 
For  many  »itis  must  ever  spring  from  rtur  * 

THE  prospect  of  his  revenge  before  him,  Davis  hurried  away  with 
the  view  to  its  accomplishment.     The  rough  couutrymaii  had  too ; 
deeply  embarked  his  feelings  in  the  frail  vessel  which  his  more  au 
dacious  and  imposing  rival  had,  to  his  eyes,  so  completely  carried 
away,  not  to   desire  this  object  at  all   the  hazards  which  he  was 
about  to  incur.     He  was  violating  his  duty — a  matter  which,  in  that 
day,  an  inexperienced  militia-man  w;ts  not  apt  to  regard  as  any  very 
great  offence — and  was  about  to  peril  his  lifr,  as  well  as  his  honour,! 
for  the  gratification  of  his  passions.     Yet  these  were  too  greatly  J. 
•  excited  to  make  him  regret,  or  even  feel  his  risks,  in  the  hope  of 
the  strife  on  which  lie  had  set  his  heart.     Too  burningly  eager  for 
this  strife,  to  be  at  all  regardful  of  the  inequality  of  skill  and  strength 
between  himself  and  his  enemy,  he  thought  only  of  the  moment 
when  he  should  confront  him  with  the  weapon  and  the  will  to  slay. 
Thus  excited  and  eager,  he  sped  across  the  narrow  islet,  broken  with 
quagmire  and  pond  and  brooklet,  with  a  haste  that  heeded  no  ob 
structions.     He  had  nearly  reached  the  spot,  where,  as  in  a  pound, 
the  horses  of  the  partisans  were  all  securely  tethered.     Verily,  John 
Davis  was  a  magnanimous  enemy,  with  all  his  vindictiveness.     He 
was  to  free  his  foe,  put  weapons  into  his  hands,  find  him  a  horse ' 
ready  saddled  and  bridled  for"  his  flight,  and  asked  nothing  in  re 
turn  but  the  chance  of  slashing  him  to  pieces  in  single  combat — a' 
gratification  for  which  he  was  to  yield  a  like  privilege  to  his  oppo 
nent. 

But  as  he  approached  the  horses,  it  was  necessary  to  observe  a 
greater  degree  of  caution  than  lie  had  thus  far  shown.  To  remove 
one  of  them,  without  disturbing  the  sleeping  encampment,  or  the 
watching  aeatiuelg — without  can-lug  a  stampede  aiuoug  tue 


JI;ST  IN  TIME,  315 

lemselves— was  no  easy  matter  ;  and  \\hen  lie,  fancied  lie  had 
early  attained  his  object,  he  was  destined  to  a  sudden  internrpUoB. 
Vhen  on  the  edge  of  the  thicket  where  the  horses  wen;  kept,  and 
•hich  skirted  a  long  dark  pond,  which  was  fed  by  numerous  sluices 
oin  the  swamp,  our  forester  came  rather  unexpectedly  upon  no 
jss  a  person  than  Lieutenant  Porgy. 

What  was  the  fat  lieutenant  doing  in  such  a  situation  ?  What 

as  the  nature  of  that  occupation  which  he  pursued  by  the  precious 

arlight,  and  when  most  honest  men  are  sleeping?     Davis  could 

ot  divine  the  answer  to  his  own  questions.     It  was  enough  that 

be  lieutenant  was  greatly  in  his  way.     Had  Porgy  been  sleeping  ? 

o  !     He  was  bright  enough  when  he  found  himself  disturbed.     But 

e  had  certainly  been  in  a  state  of  very  profound  reverie  when  the, 

nconscious  footstep  of  Davis  sounded  in  his  ears.     Rifle  in  grasp, 

id  crouching  low  upon  the  bankside,  looking  out  upon  the  dark 

ater  which    glittered    in   spots  only   beneath   the  starlight,    the 

iilosophic  epicure  was  as   watchful  as  a  sentinel   on  duty,  or  a 

out  on  trail.     Davis  could  not  say  at  first  whether  he  lay  flat 

>on   the  ground,  or   whether  he  was  on  his  knees.     To  suppose 

m  to  be  crawling  upon  all  fours,  would  be  a  supposition  scarcely 

)nsistent  with  the  dignity  of  his  office  and  the  dimensions  of  his 

erson.'    Yet  there  was  so  much  that  was  equivocal  in  his  attitude, 

at  all  these  conjectures  severally   ran  through   the  head  of  the 

oodman.     He  started  up  at  the  approach  of  Davis,  disquieted  by 

e  intrusion,  yet  evidently  desirous  of  avoiding  all  alarm.     His 

allenge — "  Who  goes  there  ?"  though  given   in   very  quick,  was 

et  delivered  in  very  subdued   accents.     Our  woodman  gave  the 

nswer;  and  the  tones  of  Porgy's  voice  underwent  some  change, 

ut  were  still  exceedingly  soft  and   low.     They  embodied  a  good- 

atured  recognition. 

"  Ah  !  Davis,  my  good  fellow,  you  are  just  in  time." 
"For  what,  lieutenant?" 

"For  great  service  to  me,  to  yourself,  to  the  whole  encampment.. 

ut  no  noise,  my  good  fellow.     Not  a  breath — not  a  word  above 

our  breath.     He  is  a  fool  who  suffers  his  tongue  to  spoil  his  siip- 

r.     As  quiet  as  possible,  my  boy." 

"What's  to  do,  lieutenant '•"   was  the  whispered  query  of  Davis, 


816  THE    PARTISAN. 

much  wondering  at  the  anxiety  of  the  speaker,  who  seldom  showed 
himself  so,  and  who  usually  took  events,  without  asking  for  the  salt 
or  sauce  to  make  them  palatable. 

"What  do  you  see?"  lie  continued,  as  the  eyes  of  Porgy  were 
straining  across  the  imperfectly  lighted  pond. 

"See! — what  do  I  see?  Oh!  Blessed  Jupiter,  god  of  men  as 
little  fishes,  what  do  /  not  see  ?" 

And  as  he  spoke,  he  motioned  to  Davis  to  sink  down,  crouch 
close,  and  creep  towards  him.  Davis,  much  bewildered,  did  as  ho 
was  required,  Porgy  meanwhile,  sot  to  voce,  continuing  to  dilate 
after  his  usual  fashion  of  eloquence — a  style,  by  the  way,  that  was 
very  apt  to  bewilder  all  his  hearers.  Davis  had  never  studied  in 
the  schools  of  euphuism ;  nor  in  any  school,  indeed,  except  that  of 
the  swamp.  He  fancied  he  knew  the  philosophy  of  the  swamp  as 
well  as  any  other  man  ;  and  that  Porgy  should  extract  from  it  a 
source  of  knowledge  hitherto  concealed  from  him,  was  a  subject  of 
very  great  amazement.  He  began,  accordingly,  to  question  the 
sanity  of  his  superior,  when  he  heard  him  expatiate  in  the  following 
language : 

"  We  live  in  a  very  pleasant  world,  Master  John  Davis.  Nature 
feeds  us  in  all  our  senses,  whenever  we  are  willing  and  wise  enough 
to  partake.  You  breathe,  you  see,  you  smell,  you  taste,  and-  you 
ought  to  be  happy,  Davis  ;  why  are  you  not  happy  ?" 

''  Well,  I  don't  know,  lieutenant ;  1  only  know  1  ain't  happy,  and 
1  can't  be  happy  in  this  world,  and  I  don't  expect  to  be." 

"Oh!  man  of  little  faith.  It  is  because  you  won't  use  your 
senses,  John  Davis — your  eyes.  You  ask  me  what  I  see !  Blind 
mote,  that  thou  art !  Dost  thou  see  nothing  ?" 

"  I  see  you,  lieutenant,  and  the  dark  pond  and  water,  and  the 
big  cypresses,  and  the  thick  vines  and  bushes,  and  just  above,  a 
little  opening  in  the  trees  that  shows  where  the  stars  are  peepinjj 
down.  I  don't  see  nothing  else." 

"And  what  were  the  stars  made  for,  John  Davis,  but  to  show 
you  the  way  to  other  things  ?  Look  for  yourself  now,  and  let  me 
show  you  the  pleasantest  prospect,  for  a  dark  night,  that  your  eyea 
ever  hungered  over.  Stoop,  f  say,  and  follow  my  finger.  There ! 
See  to  the  laguue  just  beyond  that  old  cypress,  see  the  dead  tm» 


1'OKGY'S   JOY.  817 

half  rolled  into  the  water.  Look  now,  at  the  end  of  the  fallen  tree, 
— there  just  where  the  starlight  falls  upon  it,  making  a  long  streak 
in  the  black  water.  Do  you  see,  man  of  little  faith,  and  almost  as 
little  eyesight!  Do  you  not  understand  now,  why  it  is  that  I 
rejoice;  why  my  bowels  yearn,  and  my  soul  exults?  Look,  and 
feast  your  eyes,  Jack  Davis,  whom  they  call  of  Goose  Creek,  while 
you  anticipate  better  feeding  still  hereafter.  But  don't  you  utter  a 
word — not  a  breath,  lest  you  disturb  the  comely  creatures,  the 
dainty  delights — our  quail  and  manna  of  the  swamp — sent  for  our 
blessing  and  enjoyment  by  the  bountiful  Heaven,  which  sees  that 
we  are  intensely  deserving,  and  mortal  hungry  at  the  same  time. 
Hush  !  hush  !  not  a  word  !" 

Here  he  stopt  himself  in  the  utterance  of  his  own  raptures,  which 
were  growing  rather  more  loud  than  prudence  called  for.  The  eye 
of  Davis,  meanwhile,  had  followed  the  guiding  finger  of  the  epicure, 
and  the  woodman  nearly  laughed  aloud.  But  he  dared  not. 
Porgy  was  evidently  too  seriously  bent  to  -permit  of  such  irreve 
rence.  The  objects  that  so  transported  the  other,  were  such  as  had 
been  familiar  to  the  eyes  of  both  from  their  earliest  consciousness 
of  light.  The  little  lagune,  or  bayou,  on  the  edge  of  which  they 
crouched,  showed  them,  drowsing  on  the  old  and  half-decayed  tree 
to  which  Porgy  had  directed  his  own  and  the  gaze  of  Davis,  three 
enormous  terrapins  of  that  doubtful  brood  which  the  vulgar  in  the 
southern  country  describe  as  the  alligator  terrapin — an  uncouth 
monster,  truly,  and  with  such  well  developed  caudal  extremities 
aa  seem  to  justify  them  in  classing  the  animal  in  this  connexion. 
The  terrapins  lay  basking,  black  and  shining  in  the  starlight,  their 
heads  thrust  out,  and  hanging  over  the  lagune,  into  which  the  slight 
est  alarm  of  an  unusual  nature  would  prompt  them  to  plunge  incon 
tinently.  Their  glassy. backs  yet  seemed  to  trickle  with  the  water 
from  which  they  had  arisen.  Their  heads  were  up  ind  watchful  ; 
as  if  j>i (-paring  for  that  facile  descent  into  the  native  home,  a  region 
black  as  Avernus.  -Porgy  continued — now  in  a  whisper — 

"That's  a  sight,  John    Davis,  to   lift  a  man  from  a  sick-bed. 

That's  a  sight  to  make   him  whole  and   happy  again.     Look  how 

quietly  they  lie  ;  that  farthest  one — I  would  it  were  nigher — is  a 

superb  felluvv,  fat  as  butter,  and  sticking  full  of  eggs.      Tliere'* 

14 


318  Tin-:  PARTISAN 

soup  enough  in  the  three  for  a  regiment;  ami  now,  my  good  fel 
low,  if  you  will  onh  bo  quiet,  i  will  give  you  such  a  lesson  of 
dexterity  and  stratagem  as  shall  make  you  ivmember  this  uight  as 
long  as  you  live.  There  never  was  a  terrapin  trapper  that  could 
compare  with  me  in  my  youth.  We  shall  see  if  my  right  hand 
hath  lost  its  cunning.  You  shall  see  me  come  upon  them  like  an 
Indian.  I  will  only  throw  off  this  outer  and  most  unnecessary 
covering,  and  put  on  the  character  of  a  social  grunter.  Ah,  the 
hog  is  a  noble  animal — what  would  we  do  without  him  ?  It's 
almost  a  sin  to  mock  him — but  in  making  mock  turtle,  John  Davis, 
the  offence  is  excusable:  a  good  dinner,  I  say,  will  sanctify  a  dozen 
sins,  and  here  goes  for  one." 

"  But,  lieutenant,  them's  alligator  terrapins." 

'•  Well !" 

"  Well,  nobody  eats  alligator  terrapins." 

"  Nobody's  an  ass,  then,  for  his  abstinence,  let  me  tell  you ;  an 
alligator  terrapin  is  the  very  prince  of  terrapins." 

•'  Well,  he's  the  biggest," 

"  And  the  best !  His  meat  is  of  the  rarest  delicacy,  and  with 
my  dressing,  and  the  cooking  of  my  fellow,  Tom,  the  dish  is  such 
as  would  tickle  monstrously  the  palate  of  any  prince  in  Europe— 
that  is,  of  any  prince  born  to  a  gentlemanly  taste,  which  is  not  to 
be  said  of  many  of  the  tribe,  I  grant  you.  But,  there's  no  time  to 
be  lost.  Hold  my  rifle,  and  witness  my  exertions." 

Here  he  forced  the  rifle  into  the  hands  of  the  Goose-Creek  forester, 
and  prepared  for  the  proposed  achievement ;  which  we  may  venture 
to  say,  in  this  place,  requires  a  degree  of  dexterity  and  pains 
taking  which  few  can  show,  and  which  no  one  would  attempt,  not 
stimulated  by  tastes  so  exquisite  and  absorbing  as  those  of  our 
epicure. 

Porgy's  agility  greatly  belied  his  appearance.  You  have  seen 
a  heavy  man  move  lightly,  no  doubt.  It  requires  a  certain  con 
formation  to  show  this  anomaly.  Porgy  possessed  this  conformation. 
His  coat  was  off  in  a  jifty.  His  vest  followed  it,  and  he  was  soon 
stealing  away,  along  the  edge  of  the  hammock,  and  in  the  direction 
of  his  victims.  Davis  had  become  interested,  almost  to  the  utter 
forgetfulness  of  his  own  victim.  Sergeant  Hasting*.  He  watched 


TEKKAP1.NS.  319 

our  epicure,  as,  almost  without  a  sound,  he  pressed  forward  upon 
hands  and  knees,  his  huge  form,  iu  this  attitude,  appearing  in  th« 
dusky  light  very  like  the  animal  whose  outer  habits  he  was  striv 
ing  to  assimilate. 

The  terrapins  were  a  little  uneasy,  and  Porgy  found  it  neces 
sary  to  pause  occasionally  and  survey  them  in  silence.  When  the* 
appeared  quiet,  he  renewed  his  progress ;  as  he  drew  nearer,  h« 
boldly  grunted  aloud,  after  the  porcine  habit,  and  with  such  excel 
lence  of  imitation  that,  but  for  his  knowledge  of  the  truth,  Davis 
himself  might  have  been  deceived.  Porgy  knew  the  merit  of  his 
imitation,  but  he  had  some  scruples  at  its  exercise  :  but  for  the 
want  of  fresh  meat  in  camp,  and  the  relish  with  which  he  enjoyed 
his  stew  of  terrapins,  he  would  have  been  loath  to  make  an  exhi 
bition  of  his  peculiar  powers.  Even  at  this  moment  he  had  his 
reflections  on  his  own  performance,  which  were  meant  to  be  apolo 
getic,  though  unheard. 

u  The  Hog,"  he  muttered  as  he  went,  "  has  one  feature  of  the  good 
aristocrat.  He  goes  where  he  pleases,  aud  grumbles  as  he  goes. 
Still,  I  am  not  satisfied  that  it  is  proper  for  the  gentleman  to  put  on 
the  hog,  unless  on  occasion  such  as  this.  The  pleasures  of  a  din 
ner  are  not  to  be  lost  for  a  grunt.  lie  must  crawl  upon  his  belly 
who  would  feel  his  way  to  that  of  a  terrapin.'' 

Thus  fortifying  himself  with  philosophy,  he  pressed  forward  to 
the  great  delight  of  Davis,  who  had  become  quite  interested  in  the 
performance,  and  grunt  after  grunt  testified  to  the  marvellous 
authority  which  his  appetite  exercised  over  his  industry.  The 
terrapins  showed  themselves  intelligent.  Alas!  the  best  of  beasts 
may  be  taken  in  by  man.  1'orgy's  grunts  were  a  sad  fraud  upon 
the  unsuspecting  victims.  At  the  first  sound,  the  largest  of  the  three 
terrapins,  having  the  greatest  stake  (Qu  ?  steak)  of  all,  bctraye<l  a 
little  uneasiness,  and  fairly  wheeled  himself  round  upon  his  post, 
prepared  to  plunge  headlong  with  the  approach  of  danger.  His 
uneasiness  was  naturally  due  to  the  importance  of  the  wealth  which 
had  been  intrusted  to  his  keeping.  His  bullet  head,  his  snaky  neck, 
were  thrust  out  as  far  as  possible  from  beneath  the  covers  of 
his  dwelling.  Like  an  old  soldier,  he  pricked  hia  ears,  and  stood 
on  the  alert ;  but  kg  was  soon  satisfied.  His  eye  took  hi  the  tora» 


320  THE    PARTISAN. 

of  his  drowsy  companions,  and  lie  saw  no  sign  of  danger  in  th« 
unbroken  surface  of  the  stag-cant  pond.  A  second  grunt  from  the 
supposed  porker  reassured  him.  He  had  lived  in  intimate  com 
munion  with  hogs  all  his  days.  The  sow  had  made  her  wallow 
beside  his  waters,  and  reared  her  brood  for  a  hundred  years  along 
their  margins.  He  knew  that  there  was  no  sort  of  danger  from 
such  a  presence,  and  he  composed  himself  at  his  devotion-,  and 
prepared  once  more  to  reknit  his  half-unravelled  slumbers. 

"Beautiful  creature,  sleep  on!"  murmured  Porgy  to  himself,  in 
tones  and  words  as  tender  as  made  the  burden  of  his  serenade,  in 
the  days  of  his  youth,  to  the  dark-eyed  damsels  upon  the  waters  of 
the  Ashley  and  Savannah.  He  made  his  way  forward,  noiselessly 
— the  occasional  grunt  excepted — until  he  found  himself  fairly 
astride  the  very  tree  which  his  unconscious  victims  were  reposing 
on. 

You  have  heard,  no  doubt,  of  that  curious  sort  of  locomotion 
which,  in  the  South  and  West,  is  happily  styled  "  coouing  the  log  ?" 
It  is  the  necessity,  where  you  have  to  cross  the  torrent  on  the 
unsteady  footing  of  a  spear, — or  rather,  where  you  must  needs  cross 
OD  a  very  narrow  and  very  slippery  tree,  which  affords  no  safe  foot 
ing.  In  plain  terms,  our  fat  friend  squatted  fairly  upon  the  Ing, 
hands  and  knees,  and  slided  along  in  a  style  which  John  Davis 
thought  infinitely  superior  to  anything  he  had  seen.  Telling  the 
story  long  afterwards,  John  always  did  the  fullest  justice  to  the 
wonderful  merits  of  the  lieutenant,  in  some  such  phrase  as  this : — • 

"  Lord  1  'twas  as  slick  going  as  down  hill,  with  the  wheels  greased 
up  to  the  hub  !" 

"  Greased  up  to  the  hub !" 

Porgy,  you  may  be  sure,  was  never  suffered  to  hear  of  the  villa- 
nous  comparison. 

The  anxiety  of  Davis,  at  this  point  of  the  adventure,  made  him 
fidgety  and  restless.  It,  required  strong  resolution  to  keep  quiet. 
But, though  himself  anxious  enough,  the.  stake  was  too  great  to 
suffer  our  epicure  to  peril  its  loss  by  any  undue  precipitation. 
He  moved  along  at  a  snail's  pace,  and  whenever  the  huge  <.~e? 
would  vibrate  beneath  his  prodigious  weight,  the  cautious  trapper 
would  pause  in  his  journey,  and  send  forth  u,s  yojd  a  guiut  as  ever 


THE    CAPTURE.  321 

echoed  in  Westphalian  forests.  The  pour  terrapins  were  completely 
taken  in  by  the  imitation,  and  lay  there  enjoying  those  insidious 
slumbers,  which  were  now  to  be  their  ruin. 

Nigher  and  nigher  came  the  enemy.  A  few  feet  only  separated 
the  parties,  and,  with  an  extended  hand,  Porgy  could  have  easily 
turned  over  the  one  which  was  Highest.  But  our  epicure  was  not  to 
be  content  with  less  than  the  best.  His  ey<.s  had  singled  out  the  most 
remote,  because  the  largest  of  that  sweet  company.  Ho  had  taken 
in  at  a  glance  its  entire  dimensions,  and  already,  in  his  mind,  esti 
mated,  not  only  the  quantity  of  rich  reeking  soup  which  could  be 
made  out  of  it,  but  the  very  number  of  eggs  which  it  contained. 
Nothing  short,  therefore,  of  this  particular  prize  would  have  satis 
fied  him ;  and,  thus  extravagant  in  his  desires,  he  scarcely  deigned 
a  glance  to  the  others.  At  length  he  sat  squat  almost  alongside 
of  the  two — the  third,  as  they  lay  close  together,  being  almost  in 
his  grasp,  he  had  actually  put  out  his  hands  for  its  seizure,  when 
the  long  neck  of  his  victim  was  again  thrust  forth,  and,  with  arms 
still  extended,  Porgy  remained  as  quiet  as  a  mouse.  But  the 
moment  the  terrapin  sheltered  his  head  within  the  shell,  the  hands 
of  the  captor  closed  upon  him  with  a  clutch  from  which  there  was 
no  escaping.  One  after  another  the  victims  were  turned  upon  their 
backs;  and,  with  a  triumphant  chuckle,  the  captor  carried  off  his 
prey  to  the  solid  tussock. 

"I  cannot  talk  to  you  for  an  hour,  .John  Davis,  my  boy — not  for 
an  hour — here's  food  for  .thought  in  all  that  time.  Food  for 
thought  did  1  say  !  Ay,  for  how  much  thought!  I  am  thoughtful. 
The  body  craves  food,  indeed,  only  that  the  mind  may  think,  and 
half  our  earthly  cares  are  for  this  material.  It  is  falsehood  and 
folly  to  speak  of  eating  as  a  mere  animal  necessity,  the  love  of 
which  is  vulgarly  designated  an  animal  appetite.  It  is  not  so  with 
me.  The  taste  of  the  game  is  nothing  to  the  pleasure  of  taking  \\ 
— nothing  to  the  pleasure  of  preparing  it  in  a  manner  worthy  of 
the  material,  and  of  those  who  are  to  enjoy  it.  1  am  not  selfish,  I 
share  with  all  ;  and,  by  the  way,  John  Davis,  I  feel  very  much  like 
whipping  the  fellow  who  shows  no  capacity  to  appreciate.  1  am  a 
sort  of  Barmecide  in  that  respect,  though  I  suspect,  John,  you 
know  nothing  of  the  Barmecides.1' 


822  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  No  ;  1  never  heard  tell  of  them." 

"  So  I  suppose  !  Well,  I  won't  vex  you  by  talking  of  fine  people 
not  of  your  acquaintance.  Now,  John,  tell  the  truth, — did  1  not 
seem  to  you  very  peculiar,  very  remarkable,  and  strange — nay, 
something  ridiculous,  John,  when  you  saw  me  crawling  after  the 
terrapins  3" 

"  Well,  to  say  truth,  lieutenant,  you  did  seem  rather  ridic-kilons  " 

"  Ridiculous  !  do  you  say  ?  Well,  perhaps  !  I  forgive  you,  J.-n-k 
Davis  ;  though  there  are  times  when  to  hint  such  a  word  to  me,  wuuM 
insure  you  a  broken  head.  A  man  of  my  presence  ridiculous !" 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  mean  no  offence,  lieutenant." 

"To  be  sure  not!  Do  I  not  know  that!  But,  John,  think  of 
the  soup  that  we  shall  get  out  of  these  terrapins.  Think  of  our 
half-starved  encampment;  and  do  you  not  see  that  the  art  which 
traps  for  us  such  admirable  food,  rises  into  absolute  sublimity? 
Some  hundreds  of  years  from  now,  when  our  great-grandchildren 
think  of  the  sort  of  life  we  led  when  we  were  fighting  to  secure 
them  an  inheritance,  they  will  record  this  achievement  of  mine 
as  worthy  of  Roman  fame.  But  you  don't  know  anything  of  the 
Romans,  John." 

*  Not  a  bit,  lieutenant.     Is  it  a  kind  of  terrapins?" 

"  Yes,  indeed !  a  kind  of  terrapins  that  crawled  over  the  whole 
earth,  and  claimed  it  for  their  own." 

"  You  don't  say  so !" 

"  True,  every  syllable  ;  but  the  breed's  died  out,  John,  and  such 
as  are  left  hav'n't  marrow  enough  in  'em  for  a  stew  for  a  single 
squad.  But,  John,  it  was  not  the  soup  only  that  I  thought  of 
when  I  trapped  these  beauties.  Did  you  ever  feel  the  pleasure. 
John,  of  chasing  a  fox  ?" 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  :  a  thousand  times.     It's  prime  sport,  I  tell  you." 

"  But  you  never  ate  the  fox,  John  ?'' 

"  No,  indeed  !  the  stinking  creature  !" 

"  Well,  even  if  I  shouldn't  taste  these  terrapins,  the  pleasure  of 
their  capture  is  a  feast.  I  have  exercised  my  skill,  my  ingenuity  — 
I  feel  that  my  right  .haiul  has  not  forgot  its  cunning.  That,  John, 
is  th«  sort  of  practice  that  proves  the  true  nature  of  the  man.  He 
in  never  so  well  satisfied  as  when  he  is  contriving,  inventing,  schem- 


CTTTLVG    I*  P.  323 

ing,  planning,  and  showing  how  cunning  he  can  be.  Whether  it's 
red-fox  or  red -coat,  John,  it's  a  sort  of  happiness  to  chase,  and  trap, 
and  catch,  run  down  and  cut  up." 

•'  I  reckon  that's  true,  lieutenant.  I  feel  jist  so  when  I'm  on  a 
scout,  or  a  hunt,  or  anything  like  it ;"  and  John  Davis  was  reminded 
of  his  practice  with  respect  to  Sergeant  Hastings.  lie  began  to 
bo  impatient  of  the  long  speeches  of  Porgy;  but  there  was  no  get 
ting  him  out  of  the  way,  except  at  his  own  pleasure. 

"  Talking  of  cutting  up,  John,  brings  up  the  terrapins  to-morrow. 
You  shall  see  what  a  surprise  I  shall  give  the  camp.  You  shall 
see  what  a  thing  invention  is !  How  beautiful  is  art !  Now  I 
'-hall  dress  each  of  these  beauties  in  a  different  style.  Steaks  and 
soup  you  shall  have,  and  enough  to  satisfy,  in  the  old  fashion.  But 
1  have  some  inventions — I  thought  of  them  as  I  n eared  the  log; 
and  when  the  cunning  senses  of  that  patriarch  there  almost  found 
me  out,  a  timely  grunt  silenced  his  doubt.  With  that  grunt  came 
the  idea  of  a  new  dish.  It  was  a  revelation.  That  terrapin,  I  said, 
shall  be  compounded  with  the  flesh  of  the  porker  that  Joe  Witsell 
brought  into  camp  at  noon.  There  shall  be  a  hash  that  shall  make 
your  mouth  to  water.  There  shall  be  such  a  union  of  the  forces 
of  hog  and  terrapin  as  shall  make  them  irresistible;  and  you  will 
then  learn  the  great  truth — great  to  us  at  short  commons  in  the 
swamp — that  alligator  terrapin  is  a  dish  worthy  to  be  set  before 
a  king." 

John  1  hivis  looked  dubiously,  but  said — 

"  Yes,  I  reckon,  lieutenant." 

"  You  reckon !  well,  but  whither  do  you  go  3"  he  asked,  as  he 
saw  the  other  lay  down  his  rifle  and  prepare  to  go. 

"  I've  got  to  scout  for  two  hours,  out  here  on  the  skairts  of  the 
swamp." 

u  Very  good !  But  before  you  go — have  you  a  handkerchief 
about,  you  ?" 

"A  mighty  old  one.  lieutenant." 

"  The  very  one  for  my  purposes.  Mine  is  a  new  one,  John,  and 
meant  for  great  occasions,  when  I  am  entertaining  some  of  the  big 
bugs  in  epaulettes.  Let  me  have  it, — and — but — old  fellow,  won't 
you  help  me  home  with  my  captives?" 


32i  THE   PARTISAN. 

"  In  course,  lieutenant,  I'll  take  'em  all  for  you."  And  John  soon 
had  the  monsters  gathered  up,  and  on  his  shoulders. 

"  You  are  a  good  fellow,  John,  and  must  have  your  share  of  the 
hash  as  well  as  stew.  Be  sure,  John,  that  you  don't  absent  your 
self  to-morrow.  I  wouldn't  have  you  miss  the  mess  for  the  world. 
There's  too  much  at  stake ;  so  remember.  A  day  lost  to  a  good 
stomach  is  a  serious  grievance.  You  not  only  cannot  recall  it,  but 
it  affects  your  health  the  day  after.  Don't  incur  any  such  peril." 

And  thus  talking,  Porgy  led  the  way,  and  the  two  parties  dis 
appeared  together,  taking  the  backward  route  to  the  camp.  Davis 
was  beginning  to  be  impatient  of  lost  lime.  But  there  was  no 
way  to  rid  the  precinct  of  the  lieutenant's  presence,  but  by  helping 
him  on  his  progress,  and  the  epicure  was  not  satisfied  to  let  him 
off  until  the  spoil  had  been  fairly  deposited  in  safety  in  the  shadow 
of  Porgy's  tent.  Leaving  the  epicure  to  stir  up  Tom,  the  cook — 
for  he  was  not  the  man  to  sleep,  till  all  things  were  discussed 
and  arranged  with  this  able  agent  of  his  pleasures — John  Davis 
stole  away  unseen,  and  proceeded,  without  further  interruption,  in 
search  of  his  own  peculiar  prey.  He  succeeded  iu  detaching  his 
own  steed  from  the  group,  and  in  carrying  away  a  couple  of  heavy 
broadswords.  It  now  needed  only  that  he  should  conduct  aU 
rival  in  safety  to  the  spot  chosen  for  the  proposed  duel. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

"  Wh»t  iavago  man  is  this  1     Wlml  fcarfu!  ilrife 
Mako*  night  lu  shudder  in  her  (;i^nuy  lialll  '" 

Tiu  ("i»ol  chosen  by  John  Davis  for  the  scene  of  mortal  combat, 
rn  w<>il  cn'culatcd,  no  less  for  this  thtin  for  I  lie  conflict  of  ntortiil 
|**iom.  The  area  was  sufficiently  large  for  unembarrassed  action 
*ah  iho  broadsword,  while, .the. .trees  completely  encircled  it,  am' 
*|frrt>i!i<<i  it  from  fight  of  all  without.  The  ground  itself  was.  -,\ 
ttcfv  ftntuihnnk ;  such  as,  in  such  a  neighbourhood,  will  Bomcl?.rae8 
iW  »'i'!'li'iily  out  from  a  swamp,  and  drink  up  the  still  triejding 
»*Vn  i-f  n  streamlet  running  beside  it.  The  starlight  gaV-o  a 
«i4ki«-nl)y  strong  light  for  the  combat,  and  thy  moon  was  n-.ow 
#l*Mit  to  rt^c.  Davis  surveyed  the  ground  in  silence,  and  wibl* 
irtmtliing  of  grave  reflection  crowding  upon  his  mind  as  he  did  so. 
Ifi*  »l«-«iro  for  revenge  had  made  him  almost  entirely  unmindful  of 
tW  jxirwilile  results  to  himself  of  the  contemplated  struggle ;  and 
'i&*  (lint  he  looked  upon  the  sands,  so  soon,  as  he  thought,  lo  soak 
*f  OHJ  blood  of  himself  or  his  enemy,  or  both,  his  reflections  were 
fc-rth«r  «o  calm  nor  so  pleasant  as  he  could  have  wished  them. 
,V<4  lint  he  feared  death ;  but  the  idea  had  not  often  forced  itself 
him  before  as  a  near  prospect,  and  it  does  not  lessen  one's 
r,  that  he  should  meditate  the  danger  even  when  ho  advances 
iiitrr  it 

Davis  did  begin  to  think  of  the  prospect  before  him  ;  but 
was  cast,  and  no  useful  result  could  possibly  arise  from  his 
n*  now,  as  it  was  out  of,  the  question  to  suppose  that  hi? 
Rtion  could  bo  changed.  That  was  forbidden  by  the 
X'tisc  of  society  in  the  quarter  in  which  ho  lived ;  and 
*/h!n«;  heartily  to  dismiss  all  consideration  from  his  mind,  sav« 
&*t  which  told  him  of  the  injuries  he  was  to  avenge,  ho  fastened 
*»»  neighbouring  tree  the  horse  which  was  deotined  fcr  the  survi- 


826  Til  1C   PARTISAN.. 

'•'  —  *->ra 

vor,  and  plunging  hack  into  the  swamp,  took  liis  way  towards  tin 
place  where  the  prisoners  were  .kept. 

But  the  time  which  Davis  had  lost  in  the  terrapin  hunt  with  hit 
superior,  and  in   the  subsequent  removal  of  the  horso  and  U>« 
weapons,  had  not  been  left  unemployed  by  others.     There  wiw  •  ' 
wild  ."spirit  at  work  and  sleepless  in  the  camp  of  the  1'nrti**^ 
which  was  even  more  terrible  and  threatening  than  that  of  u«t 
jealous  duellist.     It  has  not  been  forgotten  that,  in  tho  interior* 
between  Davis  and  Sergeant  Hastings,  they  had  been  Mnrlta!  at 
ils  close  by  the  eldritch  laughter  of  the  maniac,  Frampton.    llttt* 
was  a  strange  method  in  tho  madness  of  this  now  savago  j«?r»**. 
lie  had  eagerly  drunk  in  the  language  of  the  parlies,  nnd  will*  A 
calculation  and  cunning  which  wo  are  apt  mistakenly  lo  ru]>(*>« 
inconsistent  with   insanity,  he   had    treasured  the   matter  in  b* 
memory,  find  prepared  to  mar  the  plans  and  preparations  aft«*  * 
fashion  of  his  own.     lie  suffered  Davis  to  depart,  and  for  n  Uuw 
he  watched  his  movements.     Satisfied  of  his  absence,  if  not  c»f  L»» 
iininiediato  whereabouts,  tho  maniac  emerged  again  from  the  swan»fv 
an.<d  made  his  way  to  the  hut  in  which  the  sergeant  was  impriiu»tK«t 
Hastings,  anxiously  awaiting  his  rival's  coming,  had  not  slop!.     II» 
looked  up  in  the  imperfect  starlight,  as  tho  huge  form  of  Kr 
darkened  the  entrance.     It  appeared  to  him  that  the  form  of 
had  suddenly  shot  into  great  bulk  and  height,  but  he  soon  dis 
missed  tho  notion  that  such  was  the  case,  with  a  feeling  of  jlutw, 
ascribing  it  lo  cowardice  that  ho  should  think  so. 

"  Is  that  you,  John  Davis  ?" 

"  Come !"  said  the  maniac, — "  come  !" 

"  How  can  I  come,  John  Davis,"  was  the  reply,  "  unless  you  csl 
the  cord  ?  I'm  tied,  you  know,  hand  and  foot,  and  can't  b'l'J^  » 
peg." 

Without  a  word,  the  maniac  entered  and  did  as  he  was  re<|U<ft4, 

lie  divided  the  ropes  with  a  hunting  knife,  which  he  carrW  ** 

;  his  girdle.     lie  might  just  as  easily  have  cut  ihc  jugul.tr*  « 

'the  victim;  but  he  did  not,  and  quietly  restored  tho  wcajx.*  t* 

his  belt. 

"  Come  1"  said  he. 

ilastintrs  rose  from  his  rusl.os.  fcolinj?  very  stiff  and  »orc.     !»• 


THE    MANIAC.  327 


ira^'If  *7ih  *  fasxfeSfBbct.  au^f  •won>]{-.re3  Low  fc?  jjvrmj 

"S^  l;.£i'5V  ii'f  hr.tA^Fvrrd. 
d  —  £  ia-C  1**?  fr*  Lad  or  h.  Joi:r  PTTS.  snt  af  TPT 


U)  a  bnd  tiling.  I  want  something-  to  warm  me  before  I  tigFit.'r 
.  "Cornel"  was  the  sullen  monosyllable  of  the  maniac  in  answer. 
"Corno!  Is  that  all  that  you  can  say,  I  wonder?"  growled 
|l»liii£*  in  reply  ;  something  wondering  at  the  sullcnness  and 
ifeiocinhilily  of  one  wliom  he  was  about  to  indulge  with  a  fight. 
ital  ho  did  not  oppose  the  wishes  of  his  visitor,  and,  of  a  sudden, 
*|<f*arof)  to  think  it  prudent  to  forbear  further  speech  to  so  moody 
I  companion,  Stretching  himself  accordingly,  with  infinite  yawn- 
l»*fS  tho  ficrgeant  slowly  complied  with  tho  requisition  of  his 
f>wU>r,  nnd  followed  him  forth  from  the  hut. 

Now,  but  that  madness  is  whimsical  in  its  purposes,  the  proba 
bility  ia  that  Frampton  would  have  used  the  knife  upon  Hastings, 
<M  h*  Imd  already  done  upon  Clough,  iu  a  most  summary  manner. 
IJ«t  llio  insnno  man  usually  exhibits  tho  possession  of  no  little 
«»nitj.  A  diseased  self-esteem  is  apt  to  bo  an  active  condition  in 
tW  mind  of  most  lunatics,  and  has  contributed  not  a  little  to  their 
overthrow.  The  madman's  vanity  is  delighted  when  ho 
»how  you  that  he  schemes  and  Contrives.  lie  loves  to  startle 
He  anxiously  seeks  to  extort  from  you  acknowledgments  of 
r,  and  would  seem  to  bo  pleased  with  complicating  his 
purposes,  if  only  to  compel  your  admiration.  The  lingering 
Mil!  strives  to  maintain  some  of  the  shows  of  its  authority 
presence,  at  all  events  —  in  tho  brain  of  the  unhappy  man, 
i»»hich  it  hai  hours,  like  the  fiery  volume  in  the  core  of  the  volcano 
••»ljr  for  explosion.  Feeble,  wilful,  and  deprived  of  all  its  best 
Wiilinr*  of  steadfastness  and  judgment,  it  still  seeks,  if  not  to 
**UMiiihf  to  assert  its  supremacy.  How  it  plans,  with  what  effort  ; 
W*  contrives  ;  how  chuckles  over  its  contrivances;  arid  with  what 
ingenuity  it  will  combine  and  create  1  This  cunning  of 
mndman  is,  perhaps,  the  true  key  —  if  there  be  any  —  to  his 
<?r.  Properly  studied,  and  you  may  find  in  it  the  clue  to  his 
«nd  in  «omo  degree  the  suggestions  for  his  guidance. 
Now,  Krampton  had  shown  himself  thus  cunning  and  wilfuL 


p:  - 

$•&*&$$$£*?•:?:&     ^^'^''-'*$te^&*-; '-•:>-•     • 

''828     ^7  THE   PARTISAN. 

after  a  whimsical  fashion,  when  we  first  found  him  squat,  \vatchirg 
"  behind  the  hovel  where  Hastings  was  imprisoned.  He  had  made 

hia  way  to  that  spot  with  the  full  purpose  of  destroying  the  pri- 
.':  soner  as  he  had  destroyed  Clough,  in  the  same  situation.  Tho 

approach  of  Davis  had  compelled  him  for  the  moment  to  forbear, 

and  to  lurk  in  waiting.  As  he  listened,  and  heard  the  proposed 
-,  plan  of  the  duel,  as  suggested  by  our  Goose-Creeker,  the  mercuria1 
.fancies  of  the  madman  adopted  the  affair  as  his  own.  fUo  lino] 

watched,  accordingly,  till  Davis  had  gone  to  effect  his  preparations,! 


THE  SJUJRCH.  329 

wished  himself  fairly  safe  from  tho  encounter.  Bui  when  lie 
of  Ihe  brother  of  Bella  Humphries,  and  his  superior  rights, 
»vJ  auperior  power  for  vengeance,  he  plucked  up  courage,  and  oon- 
jpilulfUcd  himself  on  the  choice  which  fortune  offered  him  between 
d«lwo  enemies.  He  toiled  forward  accordingly,  with  most  pruisc- 
*tflliy  perseverance,  at  the  bidding  of  tho  maniac,  who  still  kept 
*&<•»•],  until  they  reached  a  hammock — a  solemn-looking  place 
*a*Ki;;ii — closely  embowered  with  the  highest  pines,  and  almost 
t*-tal<M  by  the  long  and  sinuous  lagune,  through  which  Frampton 
:.*i  nlrcndy  scrambled.  The  sergeant  shuddered  to  behold  the 
U*fk-Iooking  water,  the  depth  of  which  seemed  immeasurable. 
$*5l  I'rumploii  stood  upon  tho  hammock,  tall,  seemingly,  as  one 
li  it*  jiines,  and  waited  for  the  victim,  and  welcomed  him  with  a 
»•»<*  of  ihu  hand,  and  still  that  stern  monosyllable — "  Come  !" 

The  prospect  disquieted  the  nerves  of  our  sergeant,  already  con- 
«J<fal>ly  disordered. 

*Upli!"  he  cried,  with  a  shudder,  as  he  looked  at  the  lagune, 
••4  thought  of  its  depth  and  blackness.     "Ami  to  go   through 

ll  will  take  me  to  the  neck." 
Tho  maniac  waved  him  forward  impatiently. 
"Surely,"  thought  Hastings,  "he  will  give  mo  time  to  rest  for 
lie  will  not  be  for  tho  fight  right  away.     I  have  scarcely 
tor  broatli." 

*Comc  1"  cried  his  enemy  to  him  across  the  laguno.  v  It  was  with 
ailing  akin  to  desperation  that  the  sergeant  plunged  into  it,  and' 
ftws  found  himself  in  a  bed  of  mixed  mire  and  water,  which  closed 
him  instantly,  almost  to  his  middle.  There  was  no  help 
to  »truijglc  forward  through  tho  ooze  into  which,  while  slation- 
continued  to  sink.  With  unsteady  footing  he  scrambled 
i  the  slough,  and  drenched  and  dripping,  chilled  and 
M,  lie  at  length  stood  upon  the  bank,  confronted  by  tho 
who  had  led  him  thus  far  through  perilous  ways.  At  the 
•«!"*>-m,  a  wild  and  terrible  laugh, — a  shrill  demoniac  screech 
jpm  him  welcome ;  and  he  recoiled  from  the  sound  and  from  tho 

cr.«on  who  now  met  his  eyes,  with  unmitigated  horror. 
)Vho— who  are  you  ?"  demanded  Hastings  in  feeble  inquiry 
Ure'i John  Davis?" 


530  '••'-'••  THE   PARTISAN. 


v    "John  Davis?     Ha!  ha!  ha!     John  Davis!  Yea!  John  Davis. 
Como  1  coino  !" 

Such  was  the  response  of  the  madman. 

11  Oil  !  you  aro  to  lead  mo  to  him  ?"  said  the  other,  but  iraper* 
fcctly  reassured. 

"  Come  !"  was  all  the  reply. 

"  But  he  told  me  ho  would  come  for  me  himself." 

"  Come  !"  in  a  voice  of  thunder  ;  and  like  a  fierce  spirit  of  wrath, 
the  maniac  waved  his  arms  aloft,  in  the  direction  of  the  deeper 
and  darker  woods  —  »  forest  wall,  dense  and  dark,  which  spread 
away  impenetrably  beiure  (hem.  The  nerves  of  Hastings  were  nol 
in  a  condition  to  enable  him  to  resist  the  command.  The  action  of 
iho  stranger  awed  him.  The  terrible  tones  of  his  voice  secme?!  to 
paralyse  all  the  faculties  of  the  victim.  He  went  forward  passively, 
as  a  bullock  to  the  slaughter.  The  maniac  led  the  way  without' 
looking  behind  him.  He  seemed  to  think  that  the  other  must 
follow.  More  than  once  the  sergeant  found  himself  measuring  tlio 
size  and  estimating  the  powers  of  his  conductor.  Had  ho  been 
weaponed,  it  might  have  been  easy  to  spring  upon  his  guidr,  ami 
fctriko  him  down  without  resistance.  But  Hastings  could  not 
bring  his  will  to  co-operation  with  his  thoughts.  Besides,  this  WAJ 
not  his  man.  "  Were  it  John  Davis"  or  Bill  Humphries  now  1" 
was  his  muttered  corclusion  as  he  went  forward. 

The  two  penetrated  the  thick  forest,  and  passed  through  a  dense 
copse  of  some  fifty  paces.  Suddenly,  the  scene  opened  before  them, 
;  upon  a  space/and  into  a  degree  of  light,  that,  emerging  as  they  did 
from  the  darkness,  seemed  really  to  blind  and  dazzle  the  prisoner*  • 
eyes.  The  hammock  was  here  quite  bald,  showing  somewhat  like 
«hat  the  western  men  call  the  "  Door  Prairie,"  —  that  is,  they  come 
upon  it  as  through  a  door  in  the  woods.  Such  if  was  upon  M 
small  scale.  , 

Hastings  looked  upwards.  ^  The  deep  vaults  of  heaven  were  bare,! 
and  spread  clear  before  him,  without  a  cloud,  and  flowered  with; 
its  profuse  myriads  of  stars,  looking  down  upon  the  two  with  a 
loving  softness,  as  if  there  were  no  crimes  to  be  wept  over  in  l 
wide  world  of  humanity.  .  The  moon,  too,  had  sent  up  in  the  e 
A  faint  glory,  the  harbi  igcr  of  h<;r  own  coming,  which  sprea.l  itself 


THE  MANIAC'S  PRAYER.  ,  331 

tfar  like  a    gauzy    veil,  clearly  distinguishable  from  tho  starlighf 
wliich  it  now  began  to  supersede. 

The  wild  man  paused,  looked  briefly  upon  the  rich  assemblage, 
nbove  him,  turned  back  to  beckon  his  companion,  and  once  more,  \ 
with  a  waving  hand,  led  the  way  over  the  prairie.  Hastings; 
followed  like  a  tame  dog.  In  a  few  moments  they  had  gained  ai 
Ireo  —  a  huge  cypress  which  stood  on  the  opposite  side  of  the' 
hnmmock — and  there  the  maniac  paused.  Acquiring  confidence1; 
w  lie  came  up,  Hastings  approached  his  conductor,  and  was  aboutf 
to  speak  to  him,  when,  with  a  finger  upon  his  lips,  he  silenced  the 
forthcoming  speech  by  a  look,  while  he  pointed  to  his  feet.  The/ 
•orgeant  looked  down  upon  tho  spot,  and  started  back  with  some 
thing  like  astonishment,  if  not  terror,  in  his  countenance.  .1 

They  stood  before  a  newly  made  grave — tho  clay  freshly  piled/ 
above  it,  and  the  whole  appearance  of  the  spot  indicated  a  recent! 
burial.  Tho  maniac  did  not  heed  the  expression  of  the  sergeant's \ 
face;  but  after  a  moment,  seemingly  of  deliberation,  ho  prostrated  j 
himself  before  the  grave. 

Much  wondering  at  what  he  saw,  Hastings  awaited  in  silence 
Uio  further  progress  of  the  scene.  Nor  did  he  wait  long.  Tho 
maniac  prayed — and  such  a  prayer — such  an  appeal  to  a  spirit 
uipposed  to  be  then  wandering  by,  and  -hearing  him,  was  never 
ix.'fore  uttered.  Incoherent  sometimes,  and  utterly  wild,  it  was 
nevertheless  full  of  those  touches  of  sublimed  human  feeling  which 
dmraderisc  tho  holiest  aspirations  of  love,  and  which,  while  they 
warm  and  kindle,  purify  at  tho  same  time,  and  nobly  elevate. 
His  prayer  was  to  his  departed  wife,  lie  prayed  her  forgiveness 
for  a  thousand  unkindnesses, — a  thousand  instances  cf  neglect — 
of  querulous  rebuke — of  positive  injustice,  with  all  which  ho 
bitterly  reproached  himself.  Then  fallowed  a  tender  and  really  . 
tXqnipile  description  of  the  humble  and  secret  pleasures  wliieh  they 
hni]  known  together — the  joys  of  their  childhood  and  youth,  and 
ll'C  enumeration  of  many  little  incidents  of  domestic  occurrence, 
t<(  which  ho  now  reminded  the  hovering  spirit.  Tears  poured  from 
biin  freely  as  ho  repeated  them,  an'1,  for  a  few  moments,  the  wild  : 
mnr.  was  absolutely  softened  into  calm;  but  the  change  was  terri-  c 
Ic  which  described  her  cruel  murder;  how,  stricken  down  by  tin 


1  AKL  lOAIS. 


.        "'         '-'-, 

brutal  soldiery,  she  lay  trampled  upon  the  floor,  dying  at  ]M(  jj 
torture,  with  licr  infant,  yet  unborn,  adding  its  prayers  to  tli.it  tf 
its  mother  for  the  vengeance  to  which  lie  had  devoted  himself. 

This  brought  him  to  the  point  when  the  trial  must  come  « 
with  his  victim.  He  started  to  his  feet,  and  rushed  madly  loww-Jt 
Hastings.  The  sergeant,  to  whom  the  latter  part  of  the  prajof 
had  taught  his  danger,  prepared  to  fly  in  terror.  But  tho  »«$ 
foot  of  the  maniac  was  after  him,  and  his  strong  arm  hurled  lit* 
backward  upon  tho  grave,  over  which  the  victim  stumbled  h«wi 
long,  sprawling  hopelessly  upon  his  face.  His  heart  entirely 
for  tho  moment.  He  cried  out  aloud  in  his  desperation,  as  lie 
tho  maniac  bounding  towards  him.  He  cried  aloud,  and  U,* 
echoes  only  replied  ;  and  a  white  owl  that  hooted  from  the  cyjervw 
over  the  grave,  moaned  mockingly  in  answer  to  his  cry.  TU 
fierce  executioner  seized  him  with  a  grasp  which  defied  nnd  c«« 
dained  all  resistance.  He  dragged  him  to  tho  grave — filrdcM 
him  out  upon  it,- placed  his  knee  upon  his  breast,  and  with  UaS 
dreadful  screech  which  fitly  accompanied  his  movements,  ho  <liv» 
the  always  bared  knife  from  the  belt  which  contained  it. 

"Mercy!  mercy!"  implored  the  sergeant,  while  his  shm»i  «f 
terror — a  voice  beyond  his  own — rang  wildly  through  the  wtsif 
and  forest,  craving  mercy,  and  craving  it  in  vain. 

"  You  showed  her  none  1 — none !  You  struck  her  down — )«* 
foot  was  upon  her,  and  she  died  under  it.  Come — come !" 

Tho  maniac  was  impatient  for  his  prey,  and  he  yelled  scornfaSj 
at  tho  impotent  struggles  of  his  victim.  At  that  moment  a  lend 
'voice  was  heard  calling  to  them  from  tho  swamp.  Tho  wild  aa^ 
with  all  tho  caprice  of  insanity,  sprang  to  his  feet  as  ho  hcarxlisj' 
and,  seizing  that  moment  of  release,  the  sergeant  also  starlcJ  ffr 
nnd  rushed  away  to  the  wood  in  the  direction  of  the  voice. 

Tho  maniac  looked  at  the  fugitive  scornfully,  and  for  a  U*/* 
space  did  not  offer  to  pursue;  but  the  delay  was  only  inoinentKj- 
In  another  instant,  Hastings  .heard  the  bounding  tramp  of  I* 
henyy  feet — he  hoard  the  ominous  screech  of  his  enemy,  spcn&J^ 
death  to  his  imagination  ;  and  a  fresh  speed  came  to  him  froratt 
renewed  terrors,  lie  shouU-d  ever,  as  ho  flew,  to  tho 
person,  and  had  tho  satisfaction  to  find  that  his  cry  was 


,        ,. 
•<    '  "' 


!o  by  the  voice  nearer  at  hand.  Ho  rushed  into  the  little  wood 
which  separated  him  from  the  mire,  through  which  he  had  groped 
his  way  before  with  so  much  difficulty.  The  wretch  prayed  as  lie' 
ran — probably  for  the  first  time  in  his  life — and  the  cold  sweat 
Irickled  over  his  face  as  he  uttered  his  first  fervent  appeal  to  his 
God. 

The  prayer  was  unheard — certainly  unheeded.  The  maniac 
was  upon  him,  and  the  first  bound  which  the  fugitive  made  into 
the  mire  of  the  swamp,  was  precipitated  by  the  hand  of  the  avenger. 
Rushing  into  the  mud  after  him,  the  maniac  grappled  with  him 
there.  Though  hopeless  of  his  own  strength  in  the  contest  with 
one  so  far  his  superior,  and  only  desirous  of  saving  himself  unhuit 
tmlil  Davis — for  it  was  he  who  now  approached  them — should 
cnnio  up  to  his  relief,  Hastings  presented  a  stout  front,  and  resolutely 
engaged  in  the  conflict.  Ho  shouted  all  the  while  the  struggle 
was  going  on,  and  his  shouts  won-  chorused  by  the  dreadful  yells 
nl'  hi.i  murderer. 

"Come  to  me  quickly,  John  Davis — quickly — quickly — for 
'ii-ps  sake,  come,  or  I  am  murdered  !" 

"Come!  come!"  cried  the  murderer,  in  mockery;  and  tho 
sound  of  his  victim's  voice  died  away  in  a  hoarse  gurgle,  as  tho 
strong  arm  of  the  maniac  thrust  down  the  head  of  the  unhappy 
wretch  deep  into  the  mire,  where  he  held  it  as  long  as  the  body 
continued  to  show  signs  of  life.  Davis  at  last  came  up. 

"Where  is  the  prisoner,  Frampton? — where  is  Hastings?" 

"  Ho  1  ho !  ho !  See  you  not, — see  you  not  ? — ho  is  here — 
look!"  And  he  pointed  him  to  the  legs  of  the  victim,  which 
seemed  to  move  still  above  the  mire. 

"  Great  God  !  man,  pull  him  out — pull  him  out,  for  Heaven's 
sake,  Frampton  1"  And,  as  he  spoke,  the  Goose-Creeker,  horrified 
by  what  ho  saw,  bounded  into  the  mire  himself  for  the  extrication 
of  the  dying  man.  But,  at  his  approach,  the  wild  savage  thrust 
iho  victim  still  more  deeply  into  the  ooze,  until  it  was  evident,  from 
the  quiet  of  tho  body,  long  before  Davis  could  extricate  him,  that 
all  life  had  departed. 

"  Why  have  you  done  this,  Frampton  ?"  cried  tho  aroused  and 
disappointed  partisan  to  tho  murderer;  but  tho  maniac  oolv 


...         '  -  -  . 


834  THE    PARTISAN. 

replied  by  another  of  his  terrible  screeches,  as,  bounding  out  of  tlio 
mire,  he  took  his  way  back  to  the  grave  where  his  wife  lay  buried. 
The  feelings  of  Davis  were  melancholy  and  self-reproachful  enough, 
as  he  returned  slowly  to  the  encampment,  lie  felt,  in  some  deH 
gree,  as  if  he  had  been  the  murderer  of  the  wretched  captive,  lie 
was  guilty,  in  one  sense,  and  might  be  severely  punished  for 
breach  of  trust  and  neglect  of  duty ;  but  the  secret  of  Ins  error 
was  pretty  much  his  own,  and  ho  had  not  the  courage  to  confess 
it.  Tho  maniac  was  not  the  person  to  reveal  it.  His  insanity 
made  him  heedless  of  the  offences  which  he  had  no  motive  him 
self  to  punish.  Enough  for  him,  that  he  had  done  something 
more  towards  the  satisfaction  of  the  one  passion  of  his  hfo  -'bf. 
avenging  of  his  wife's  murder 


*  OH,  thought  may  (rend  that  louo.y  wild, 

And  earring  on  each  tree, 
x  May  dream  that  some,  who  once  hare  smjl'd, 

Will  still  be  there  to  see  :     - 
•  The  bark  o'er  former  names  hith  grunrn, 
Yet  there  Is  one  remains,  alone, 
Whose  freshness  cannot  flee— 
A  spirit  memory  comes  by  night, 
To  make  its  fading  traces  bright." 

EVEN  as  the  pilgrim,  bound  upon  some  long  travel,  pauses  bt 
Hie  wayside  "to  plant  «i  flower,  or  utter  a  devout  prayer  upon  the 
Rpot  once  sacred  to  some  sweet  affection,  which  he  would  not  wiFi- 
ingly  forget;  so,  gentle  reader,  ere  we  depart  for  scenes  of  trial 
nml  vicissitudes  whose  issues  we  may  not  foresee,  let  us  praise  for 
n  moment,  and  wander  aside  together  into  \vnlks  of  solitude,  ami 
regions  which  are  hallowed  l>y  powers  greater  than  those  of  earth. 
The  grave  is  not  simply  a  monitor;  it  is  a  power.  Instinctively 
l!ic  heart  sinks  under  its  silent  spells.  Wo  naturally  feel  a  dimi 
nution  of  hardihood  and  courage,  of  strength  and  audacity,  when 
wo  sfand  above  the  little  hillock  which  hides  from  us  tho  form  of 
him  who  onco  trod  tho  earth  with  a  powerful  footstep  and  a  swell 
ing  heart.  And  if  your  mood  be  contemplative,  as  it  should  be, 
after  the  scenes  of  wild  strife  and  savage  excitements  through 
which  it  has  been  our  fortune  to  conduct  you,  it  will  be  a  pleas 
ing  relief,  perhaps,  to  turn  aside  for  a  few  brief  moments  from  the 
camp  of  our  partisans,  and  look,  ere  we  shall  have  left  the  sacnjti 
precincts,  upon  the  ancient  burial-place  of  Dorchester.  As  yet, 
tho  spot  is  one  in  which  Death  is  a  fresh  empire.  Here  he  dwells 
in  full  commerce  with  tho  living.  Tho  old  cemetery,  au<l  the 
village  church  and  spire,  are  still  in  tho  daily  use  of  a  populous 
neighbourhood.  It  is  destined,  however,  to  an  early  change  ;  and 
Ihe  picture  of  it  that  we  show  you  now,  will  soon  be  obliterated. 


336  TUE    PARTISAN. 

•  f 

leaving  fo\v  vestiges  of  what  we  may  at  this  moment  behold.  Tit 
time  will  come,  and  very  shortly,  when  this  venerable  shrine  wiE 
be  in  ruins,  when  yon  old  tower  will  be  dismantled  and  ovu- 
thrown,  and  when  these  silent  graves  and  solid  tombs  will  K?. 
disappear,  levelled  with  the  sands,  or  swallowed  up  in  the  vvi 
weeds  and  dense  growth  of  a  new  and  unconscious  forest.  Fiftj 
years  hence,  behold  the  prospect.  We  leave  the  great  thoroughftt^ 
and  the  woods  girdle  us  thickly.  The  very  streets  of  the  village, 
the  scene  of  so  many  events,  so  mirthful  and  so  excited  onrc,  nrt 
overgrown  with  triumphant  pines  and  cedars.  They  crowd  fiilj 
here,  among  the  shrines  of  Death,  as  trophies  of  that  sleepless  o* 
queror.  They  shroud  from  light,  and  thus  shrouding,  sccin  to 
hallow  and  to  sanctify  the  spot.  You  shall  pursue  your  quest,  ntij 
seek  out  the  few  memorials  which  remain,  without  dread  of  tk 
thoughtless  jeer  of  the  vulgar,  or  the  heartless  laugh  of  tin- 
sympathising  irreverence.  Living  man  disturbs  not  often  thi« 
sacred  neighbourhood.  The  spot  has  no  attractions  for  the  liunj- 
ing  crowd,  llere  nature  has  thrown  up  no  heights  of  grandeur. 
Hero  she  descends  in  no  glorious  torrents.  The  place  is  a  sini|'U 
plain,  overrun  with  a  tangled  forest  growth,  showing  for  ruin  only, 
or  a  savage  untutored  nature.  The  whole  region,  to  the  ordinnij 
mood,  is  uninviting  and  desolate  enough.  Desolating  it  is,  but  to 
ua  who  know  something  of.  its  history,  it  is  not  wholly  uninviting. 
Wo  shall  recall  many  sweet  sad  histories  in  this  silent  ramUt 
Wo  shall  gather  something  for  thought  from  these  mansions  of 
decay  ;  and  Death,  bearing  the  torch  for  life,  shall  show  us  htt 
most  secret  places  and  teach  us  his  most  solemn  truths. 

One  reflection  commonly  occurs  to  us   in   the   survey  of  l!* ' 
fabrics  of  ancient  times,  and  while  we  feel  the  contrast  with  out 
own  performances,  which  is  forced  upon  us  by  the  survey.      Ho* 
much  more  solid  than  ours,  seem  to  have  been  the  tastes  of  oa 
ancestors  1     Uow  earnest  did  they   appear  in   all   their  labour*! 
They  seem  to  have  built  rather  for  their  children  than  themsclvr* 
Now,  alas !  who  is  it  that  plants  or  builds  for  other  generation* 
than  his  own  ?     How  nad  this  reflection,  how  full  of  omen,  when  »« 
regard    this  change  as  significant  of  a  change  in  character— M. 
ftxpressivo  of  a  decay  of  moral  purpose,  and,  accordingly,  of  iuor«J 


THE    RUINED    CHUJRCH.  337 

oowcr.      In  other  words,  they  scorn  to  have  contemplated    uses. 
Our  object  is  appearances.     How  nobler,  how  far  less  selfish,  wore' 
their  tastes  and  objects  !     TJicy  honoured  death,  while  rearing  such 
vaults  as  these.  How  thick  and  huge,  cumbrous  perhaps,  but  tiiuc 
defying.     Is  it  a  nobler  sentiment.,  a  more  Christian  humility  tha 
prompts  us,  now-a-days,  in  our  forest  country,  simply  to  put  our 
dead  away  from  our  sight,  and  so  leave  the  unprotected  hillodfc 
which  covers  the  sacred  remains,  that  the  rains  of  a  single  year 
shall  obliterate  all  earthly  traces  of  the  being  that  we  professed  to 
love  ?     We  err  in  deeming  it  an  idle  vanity  to  bestow  caro  and 
pains  and  art  and  beauty  on  a  human  monument,  set  up  in  the 
domains  of  death.     Love  and  veneration  delight  in  such  tributes,) 
and  arc  justified  by  all  (lie  nflViclions,  and  all  the    charities,   and  all 
(.lie  humanities  of  life.     Indeed,  there  is   a  powerful    moral   to  bo 
adduced  from  the  survey  of  the  noble  monument.     How  impressive! 
is  the   lesson  that  teaches  us  that  all  the  worth,  and  valoUr,  and! 
nobleness  of  the  being  whom  we  thus  honour,  were  yrt  unavailing! 
to  aflbrd   security  against  the  inexorable    Fate.       The   thick  amir 
massive  tomb  seems  also  well  conceived  to  illustrate  those  impassabW 
barriers  which  shut  out  the  living  man  oritire.lv  from    him  who  ha'f 

O  •• 

already  shaken  off'  the  coil  of  mortality.  We  stand  before  thd 
tomb,  gazing  vainly  into  the  blank  region  of  another  world  whicl  I 
we  are  soon  to  enter.  And  when  the  vault  Is  rent  asunder,  as  ii  j 
the  one  now  before  us,  and  we  see  nothing,  may  we  not  infer  th(j 
Ascent  upward  of  the  triumphant  spirit,  throwing  aside  all  (lie  icili! 
estraints,  even  of  the  affection  that  would  keep  it  I'or  ever  to  itself! 
nnd  rising,  on  the  transparent  wings  of  an  eternal  morning,  to  tlxj 
fair  and  wooing  mansions  of  eternal  bliss  ? 

And  there  is  the  old  church,  like  a  thoughtful  matron,  silting  ill 
quiet  contemplation  among  her  children.  Their  graves  arc  m 
around  her;  but  she,  deserted  by  those  she  taught  and  cherishejW' 
without  even  the  tongue  to  deplore  them — dumb,  as  \l  were,  with  be  j 
excess  of  woe — she  still  sits,  a  monument  like  themselves,  not  onM 
of  their  worship,  but  of  the  faith  which  she  taught.  It  is  a  gradj 
ful  ruin,  that  will  awaken  all  your  veneration,  if  iho  gnawing  cure? 
of  gain,  and  the  world's  baser  collision,  haveSiot  kept  it  too  lon.j 
inactive.  It  stands  up,  like  some  old  warrior,  grey  with 


'winters,  scarred  ami  buffeted  with  conflicting  stoi'ms  and  etrift-u. 
but  still  upright — still  erect.  The  high  altar,  the  sacred  ornaments 
the  rich  pews,  like  th<»  people  who  honoured  and  occupied  them, 
are  torn  away  and  gone.  Decay  and  rude  hands  havo  dealt  with 
them,  as  death  has  dealt  with  the  worshippers.  Tho  walls  and 
Tho  tower  has  been  stricken  and  shattered, 

but  still  more  hallowed  by  the  lightning  which  has  done  it.  Somo 
white  owls  are  in  quiet  possession  of  it,  but  as  they  are  innocent,  am. 
sec'n  in  venerable  keeping  with  the  place,  the  gentle  spirit  will  hold 
them  sacred  from  harm  ;  and  may  no  profane  hand  drive  them 
away. 

Here,  to  (ho  right  of  the  church,  is  a  goodly  cluster  of  tombs, 
fringed  in  thickly  by  tho  pine  and  cedar.  The  cattle  stray  hero 
At  noonday  for  tho  shady  quiet,  not  less  than  for  the  rank  grass 
which  tho  spot  affords.  They  are  not  the  least  gentle  of  its  visit 
ors.  Rude  hands,  in  some  cases,  havo  torn  away  and  broken  up, 
in  sinful  wantonness,  the  thick  marble  slabs  which  covered  the 
vaults,  and  recorded  the  history  of  their  indwell'crs.  This  was  n 
double  wrong — a  wrong  to  those  of  whom  they  told,  and  not  less 
a  Avrong  to  those  who  read,  and  who  might  have  won  useful 

.knowledge  from  a  lesson  at  the  grave.  Here,  now,  is  the  bone  of 
an  arm — a  slender  bone — perhaps  that  of  a  woman.  It  lies  before 
us,  Unconscious  of  its  exposure.  Wo  will  disturb  it  no  further — • 
enough,  if  what  we  have  seen  shall  have  the  effect  of  persuading  us 
to  regard  with  less  complacency  the  vigour,  and  tho  power,  and  tliu 
beauty  in  our  own.  Pass  on. 

Here  AVO  may  muse  for  hours,  and  our  thoughts  shall  bo  as 
various  as  the  records  we  have  about  us.     Some  of  these  tombs 
belong  to  history.     Hero  lies  one  of  a  man  who  was  killed  and 
X  scalped  at  Goose  Creek,  in  the  war  of  the  Yemassees,  Avhen  those 

:  brave  savages  came  down  in  1715.     This  stone  tells  us  of  another 

'.}  ,who  died  at  Eutaw  in  the  Revolution,  and  Avho  was  brought  hero 

for  burial,  at  his  o\vn  request.     The  spot  was  sacred  even  then. 

.You,  who  can  "  find  sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  every  thing," 
shall  be  at  no  loss  for  matters  of  thought  in  tho  huge  volumes  of 
limjo  which  death  has  here  bound  up  together — their  leaves  closely 
written  upon,  and  every  page  full  of  a  swoot  though  sad  morality 


MONUMENT.  339 

ijjfc  ••.:'"••'••'.         :'  ••'  -'"••  '  '..''• 

.  But,  if  you  will  descend  with  rae  to  the  bottom  of  this  littlo 
'Mope,  inclining  from  the  burial-ground  towards  tho  Ashley,  which 
Mcnis  in  and  out  below  us,  I  will  take  you  to  one  monument,  now 
sacred  in  our  narrative — ono  monument,  the  history  of  which  is 
more  familiar  to  our  regards  than  all  tho  gravestones  can  possibly 
make  it.  The  plane  descends  gradually  here,  and  the  young  pines 
crowd  upon  it  thickly.  You  seo  a  little  runnel  of  water  that 
trickles  down  its  sides.  The  traveller,  who  knows  where  to  seek 
it,  draws  in  from  the  roadside  and  drinks  of  it  freely,  though  he 
well  knows  tint  it  finds  its  source  amon^  the  dwellings  of  tho 

o  o 

dead.     At  the  foot  of  tho  hill  you  behold  a  little  inclosure — a  neat 
paling  fence,  once  whole  and  white,  but  now  sadly  wanting  repair. 
It  is  in  better  condition,  however,  than  most  of  those  around  i(. 
Tho  seclusion  of  the  spot  tends  somewhat  to  its  protection.     This , 
is  the  "Walton  Burial-place."     The  old  barony  has  given  it  many 
tenants.     Here,  now,  is  .a  solid  slab,  twelve  feet  in  length,  that 
covers  a  generation.     A  long  inscription  tells  us  of  granclsire,  son,   ) 
grandson — of  their  wives  and  children — how  they  wer«  worthy 
and  beloved  in  life,  and  how  they  were  bcwept  and  remembered  / 
After  death. )( There  are  others,  equally  imposing,  at  the  side  of 
this  monument, — a  goodly  range  of  graves,  each  having  its  memo-  - 
rial  in  stone.     But  as  we  know  nothing  of  them,  beyond  their 
names,  we  need  not  linger  to  behold  them.     They  can  teach  us 
but  thb  one  lesson  which  the  dead  everywhere  dedicates  to  tho 
warning  of  tho  living.     We  obey  only  a  common  mood  of  heed- 
Icssness  when  we  turn  coldly  from  these  unknown  sleepers. 

But  not  with  such  indifference  may  we  pass  the  slender  white 
shaft  to  which  I  now  conduct  you.  Here  is  a  little  hillock,  grassy 
and  speckled  with  daisies  in  the  spring.  They  are  proper  emblems  . 
of  tho  pure,  soft,  gentle  heart  of  the  being  who  sleeps  below. 
Tread  lightly  about  the  spot.  It  should  be  sacred  to  us.-  It  hides 
one  whom  we  knew  and  loved  in  life.  There  is  something  in  nil 
the  natural  objects  that  surround  it  that  seems  to  be  in  keening 
with  youth,  and  innocence,  rind  beauty.  Seo  this  infant  cedar. 
Plucked  up  by  the  roots,  from  the  neighbouring  woods,  when  the 
grave  was  fresh,  it  was  planted  at  its  foot,  has  taken  root  vigorously, 
and  is  now  a  beautiful  shrub-tret*,  casting  a  soft  and  genial  shado* 


340  THE   PARTISAN. 

.  over  the  spot.     Shall  we  read  the  few  words  that  appear  upon  the' 
.  slender  marble  headstone  ?     Stoop  with  me,  while  my  knife  enables 
us  to  discern  the  inscription. 

"  E  S 

"BoRN  7th  May,  1763;  DIED  21st  June,  1780." 
This  is  all.     No !     There  are  two  words  below — but  two— and 
they  declare,  as   fondly  perhaps   as  words  may  declare,  for  the 
"aflections  of  a  noble  brother: 

"  My  Sister  1" 

This  is  all — the  whole  story,  with  what  our  narrative  has 
already  given,  of  that  sweet  suffering  creature,  whom  we  knew  on 
earth  as  Emily  Singleton,  whatever  may  be  her  accepted  name  in 
heaven.  We  may  not  withhold  from  these  pages  the  simple 
'  tribute  of  George  Dennison,  the  rustic  minstrel  of  the  Partisans, 
made  long  afterwards,  and  when  wo  visited  the  spot  together, 
fondly  pursuing  the  ancient  avenues  of  the  graveyard,  and  deci 
phering  the  old  inscriptions : 

THE    GHAVK    OF    INNOCKNCK. 


Tia  a  lowly  grave,  but  it  suits  her  best, 

Since  it  breathes  of  fragrance  and  speaks  of  rest; 

And  meet  for  her  is  its  calm  repose, 

Whose  life  was  so  stormy  and  sad  to  its  cloae. 


Tie  a  shady  dell  where  they've  laid  her  form, 
And  the  hill  gathers  round  it,  to  break  the  storm ; 
While,  above  her  head,  the  bending  trees 
Arrest  the  wing  of  each  ruder  breeze. 


A  trickling  stream,  as  it  winds  below, 
lias  a  imisic  of  peace  in  its  quiet  flow; 
And  the  buds,  tlmt  arc  always  in  bloom 
Tell  of  some  ruinist'ring  spirit's  love. 


THE   GRAVE   OF   INNOCENCE.  34 1 


It  is  sweet  to  think,  that  when  all  is  o'er, 
And  life's  fcver'd  pulses  shall  fret  no  more, 
There  still  shall  be  some,  with  a  gentlo  regr«t> 
Who  will  not  forsake,  and  who  cannot  forget- 


Some  kindlier  heart,  all  untainted  by  earth, 
Thr.t  h;is  kipt  its  ewect  bio-Mr  ^"w  '*;  *        \d  its  biitj; 
Whoso  tcais  lor  the  sorrows  ol  youth  enafl  be  shed, 
&jid  whose  pray'r  shall  still  rise  for  the  earlv  de&d. 


15 


CHAPTER    IXXIII. 


ma 


BUT,  tL  .'i»tx  *>«  permit  ourselves  to  turn  aside  occasioiMily  from 
the  highway,  to  plant  or  to  pluck  the  flower,  we  nr*  not  to  linger 
idly  or  long  in  the  grateful  employment.  The  bus?vcu  of  life  calls 
for  progress  rather  than  repose  ;  for  perseverance  rather  than  con 
templation.  The  repose  is  needed  for  renovation,  and  in  itself,  as 
an  interval  from  action,  implies  the  presence  of  the  duty  to  bo  done.  • 
Contemplation  itself  is  simply  nn  essential  to  proper  action  ;  preparn-  ; 
live  wholly,  so  that  design  shall  not  be  crudely  conceived,  and 
performance  rendered  rash  and  incomplete.  The  play  of  existence 
vibrates  between  two  extremes,  which  yet  cooperate  in  their  results. 
We  are  not  to  fly  heedlessly  and  for  ever,  no  matter  how  much  of 
the  race-horse  may  be  in  our  temperament;  so,  equally.  must  it  be 
fatal  to  proper  life,  to  fling  ourselves  down  beside  the  highway  and 
only  contemplate  the  performances  in  which  we  do  not  seek  to 
share. 

For  us,  it  is  enough  that  we  have  lingered  for  a  moment,  to 
muse  over  sacred  memories,  and  restore  half-obliterated  inscriptions. 
Contenting  ourselves  with  having  cast  our  tribute  flower  upon  tho 
grave  of  the  beautiful  and  peaceful,  we  must  hurry  away  to  the 
encounter  7?nh  the  fearful  and  tho  wild!  We  must  exchange,  for 
a  season,  saace  for  war,  love  for  strife,  and  tho  beautiful  for  tho 
terrible  an?  dread;  —  striving,  in  obedience  to  wild  necessities,  if 
not  to  for^zl  at  least  not  improvidently  to  remember.  And  now 
to  our  narrative. 

The  hot  chase  over,  which  Proctor  had  urged  after  Singleton. 
the  latter,  accompanied  by  his  uncle,  now  fairly  out,  returned 
qiuckty  to  tne  shelter  of  tho  cypress  swamp.  Tho  party  reached 
its  wild  recesses  at  a  latr  hour  of  the  night,  and  were  very  soon 


.  .  -  '•  .: 


THE    DEPARTURE.  848 

wrapt  in  those  slumbers,  which  wero  as  necessary  as  grateful  after 
ihcir  late  excitement,  and  fatigue. 

With  the  dawn,  however,  Colonel  Walton  was  on  the  alert. 
Arousing  his  little  troop,  he  prepared  at  once  to 'depart.  Unen 
cumbered  with  baggage  wagons  or  prisoners,  movement  was  easy  ; 
nml  ho  resolved  to  push  forward  with  extra  speed,  making  his  way 
lo  tho  borders  of  North  Carolina,  where  it  was  his  hope  to  meet 
with  tho  continentals  of  Maryland  and  Virginia,  then  known  to  be 
advancing  under  the  conduct  of  Baron  Do  Kalb.  His  own  force 
was  quite  too  small  for  a  distinct  command,  and  he  proposed  to 
unite  himself  with  some  one  of  the  corps,  most  deficient  in  numbers, 
in  the  incomplete  squadrons  of  the  southern  army.  His  personal 
services  ho  resolved  to  volunteer  to  Gates,  whom  ho  had  known  in 
Virginia  prior  to  the  war,  and  between  whom  and  himself  there 
Imd  once  existed  a  certain  intimacy.  He  did  not  suffer  himself  to 
doubt,  under  these  circumstances,  that  he  should  receive  an  honour 
able  appointment  near  the  General's  person. 

Tho  squadron  of  Singleton  was  not  able  to  move  with  such 
rapidity  as  that  of  Walton.  It  had,  in  its  few  days'  practice  along 
tho  Ashley,  been  accumulating  the  impedimenta  of  war,  baggage 
and  prisoners.  There  were  munitions  too,  of  no  small  importance 
lo  tho  partisans  of  Marion — powder  and  ball  and  buckshot — a  few 
»(ncks  of  extra  muskets  and  some  spare  riiles — all  of  which  required 
procious  painstaking,  nice  handling,  a  strong  guard,  and  compara 
tively  slow  movements.  Singleton,  accordingly,  resolved  to  defer 
his  movement  to  a  later  moment.  But  the  preparations  for  Wal 
ton's  departure  naturally  aroused  the  whole  camp,  and  tho  troopers 
generally  turned  out  to  take  leave  of  their  friends  and  comrades. 

Among  those  who  rose  early  that  morning,  we  must  not  forget 
to  distinguish  Lieutenant  Porgy.  But  it  would  be  a  mistake  to 
•impose  that  he  was  stirred  into  activity  at  the  dawn  by  any  mere 
icntiment,  such  as  prompts  youth,  in  its  verdancy,  to  forego  its 
pleasant  slumbers,  in  order  to  take  a  farewell  gripe  of  the  hand  of 
parting  friends,  and  meditate,  with  no  appetite  for  breakfast,  on 
ruptured  ties  and  sundered  associations.  Forgy's  sentiment  took 
a  somewhat  different  direction.  He  had  survived  that  <?reen  season 
of  ihe  heart,  when  it  delights  in  the  things  which  make  it  sad 


844  THE    PARTISAN. 

His  sentiment  de;ilt  in  solids.     tie  might  bo  pathetic  in  soups  and 
sauces;  but  never  when  a  thinning  camp  increases  the  resources 
of  the  larder.     He  rose  that  morning  to  other  considerations  tlinn 
such  as  were  involved  in  Walton's  departure ;  though,  no  doubt, 
the  bustle  of  that  evening  had  contributed  to  his  early  rising.    Ilif 
dreams,  all  night,  had  been  a  mixed  vision  of  terrapin.     It  floated 
in  all  shapes  and  aspects  before  his  delighted  imagination.    At  first, 
his  lively  imagination  re-enacted  to  his  sight  the  scene  in  which 
ho   became  the  successful    captor  of  the  prey.     There  was  tlio 
picture  of  the  sluggish  water,  beneath  the  silent  starlight.     There, 
juMing  out  from  the  bank,  was  the  fallen  tree ;  and  snug,  and  safe, 
and  sweet  in  the  imperfect  light,  there  were  the  grouped  victims, 
utterly  unconscious,  and  drowsing  to  their  doom,  even  as  his  eyes 
had  seen  them,  some  six  or  eight  hours  before.     Nothing  could 
seem  more  distinct  and  natural.     Then  followed  his  experience  in 
the  capture.     How  lie  "  cooned"  the  log,  slowly  but  surely  wearing 
upon  his  prey,  ho  again  practised  in  his  dreaming  mood.     How, 
one  by  one,  ho  felt  himself  again  securing  them,  turning  them 
upon  their  backs,  and  showing  their  yellow  bellies  to  the  starlight; 
while  their  feet  paddled  ineffectually  on  either  side,  and  their  long 
necks  were  thrust  forth  in  a  manifest  dislike  of  the  fortune  which 
put  them  in  such  unmtural  position.     Porgy  experienced  an  illu 
sion,  very  common  to  old  fishermen,  in  being  suffered  to  re-enact  in 
his  dreams  the  peculiar  successes  which  had  crowned  his  labours 
by  day.     As  the  angler  then  goes  through  the  whole  adventure 
with  the  cunning  trout— beguiles  him  with  the  favourite  fly,  dex 
terously  made  to  settle  over  his  reedy  or  rocky  retreat, — as  he  plays 
him  from  side  to  side,  now  gently  persuades  him  with  moderate 
tension  of  his  line,  now  relaxes  when  the  strain  threatens  to  be 
too  rude,  and  at  length  feels  his  toils  crowned  with  victory,  in  the 
adroit  effort  which  spreads  his  captive  on  the  bank ; — even  so  diJ 
the  pleasant  servitors  of  Queen  Mab  bring  to  the  fancies  of  our 
epicure  a  full  repetition  of  all  the  peculiarities  of  his  adventure. 

But  the  visions  of  our  fat  friend  were  not  confined  to  the  mete 
taking  of  his  victims.  His  imagination  carried  him  further  ;  and  lie 
was  soon  busied  in  the  work  of  dressing  them  for  the  table.  'Jli< 
Tory  dismembering  of  tho  captivcn — the  breaking  into  their  house* 


LOVE    OK   TKKUAI'IN.  345 

tho  dragging  forth  of  the  precious  contents — the  spectacle  of 
crowding  eggs  and  geneious  collopa  of  luxurious  swainp-fcd  meat; 
nil  of  these  gave  exercise  in  turn  to  his  epicurean  fancies ;  nor  must 
wo  forgot  the  various  caprices  of  his  genius,  while  preparing  the 
wvcral  dishes  out  of  the  prolific  mess  before  him.  He  awoke  from 
his  dream,  crying  out  "  Eureka,"  and  resolved  soberly  to  put  some 
of  his  sleep  devices  to  the  test  .of  actual  experiment.  Of  course,  he 
•Iocs  not  forget  the  compound  of  terrapin  with  pig,  which  ho  has 
Already  declared  his  purpose  to  achieve ;  but  he  has  other  inven 
tions  even  superior  to  this;  and, full  of  the  one  subject,  the  proposed 
departure  of  Colonel  Walton,  of  which  he  hears  only  on  awaking, 
provoked  all  his  indignation.  lie  grew  eloquent  to  Humphries. 
from  whom  he  heard  particulars. 

"To  go  off  at  an  hour  so  unseasonable,  arid  from  such  a  feast  as 
jrvffhall  have  by  noon — it's  barbarous  !  I  don't  believe  it — I  won't 
oclicvc  a  word  of  it,  Kill." 

"  15ut  1  tell  you,  lieutenant,  it  is  so.  The  colonel  has  set  the 
Ixns  to  put  the  nags  in  fix  for  a  start,  and  him  and  the  major  only 
t.'ilk  now  over  some  message  to  Marion  and  General  Gates,  which 
the  colonel's  to  carry." 

"He's  heard  nothing  then  of  the  terrapin,  you  think?  He'd 
fcnrcely  go  if  he  knew.  I'll  see  and  tell  him  at  once.  I  .know 
him  well  enough." 

"Terrapin,  indeed,  Porgy  !  how  you  talk!  Why,  man,  he  don't 
cnro  for  all  the  terrapin  in  the  swamp." 

"Then  no  good  can  come  of  him  ;  he's  an  infidel.  I  would  not 
nmrdi  with  him  for  the  world.  Don't  believe  in  terrapin  I  A  man 
ought  to  believe  in  all  that's  good  ;  and  there's  nothing  so  good  as 
Icrrnpin.  Soup,  stew,  or  hash,  all  the  same ;  it's  a  dish  among  a 
thousand.  Nature  herself  shows  the  value  which  she  sets  upon  if, 
"lion  she  shelters  it  in  such  walls  as  these,  and  builds  around  it 
Mich  fortifications  as  are  here.  Sec  now,  Bill  Humphries,  to  that 
m.npnificent  fellow  that  lies  at  your  feet.  You  should  ha>e  seen 
how  he  held  on  to  his  possessions;  how  reluctantly  he  surrendered 
»t  tho  last;  and,  in  the  mean  time,  how  adroitly,  as  well  as  tena 
ciously,  he  continued  the  struggle.  I  was  a  goodly  hour  working 
»l  him  to  surrender.  To  hew  oft'  his  head  cost  more  effort  than  in 

15* 


3J6  THE   PARTISAN. 

taking  off  that  of  Charles  the  First.  No  doubt,  he  too  was  a  tyrant 
in  liis  \vay,  and  among  his  own  kidney — a  tyrant  among  the  terra 
pins.  His  self-esteem  was  large  enough  for  a  dozen  sovereign*, 
even  of  the  Guolph  family.  But  if  the  Itcad  worried  me,  \\lial 
should  I  say  about  the  shell — the  outer  fortress  ?  I  marched  up  lo 
it,  like  a  knight  of  the  middle  ages  attacking  a  Saracen  fortress, 
battle-axe  in  hand.  There  lies  my  hatchet :  see  how  I  have  ruined 
the  edge.  Look  at  my  hand  :  see  what  a  gash  I  gave  myself. 
Judge  of  the  value  of  the  fortress,  always,  from  the  difficulty  of 
getting  possession.  It  is  a  safe  rule.  The  meat  here  was  worlhv 
of  the  toils  of  the  butcher.  It  usually  is  in  degree  with  tlio 
trouble  we  have  to  get  at  it.  It  is  so  with  an  oyster,  which  I  take 
to  be  the  comeliest  vegetable  that  ever  grew  iu  the  garden  of 
Fxlen !" 
-•,  "  What,  lieutenant,  the  oyster  a  vegetable  3" 

"  It  originally  was,  I  have  no  doubt." 

"  And  growing  in  the  garden  of  Eden  ?" 

"And  if  it  did  no/,  then  was  the  garden  not  to  my  taste,  I  can 
assure  you.  But  it  must  have  grown  there ;  and  at  that  period 
was  probably  to  bo  got  at  without  effort,  though  I  am  riot  sure,  my 
good  fellow,  that  the  flavour  of  a  thing  is  at  all  heightened  by  the  caw 
with  which  we  get  at  it.  It's  not  so,  as  we  see,  with  terrapin  nn<l 
oyster,  and  crab  and  shrimp,  and  most  other  things  in  which  we  take 
most  delight — which  arc  dainties  to  human  appetite ; — if  indeed 
wo  may  consider  appetite  as  merely  human,  which  I  greatly  ques 
tion." 

"Well,"  quoth  Humphries,  after  a  short  fit  of  musing,  "that 
does  seem  to  me  very  true,  though  I  never  thought  of  it  before.  All 
the  tough  things  to  come  at  are  mighty  sweet,  lieutenant ;  and 
them  things  that  we  work  for  hardest,  always  do  have  the  sweotesl 
relish." 

"Yes;  even  love,  Humphries,  which  considered  as  a  delicacy—a 
fine  meat,  or  delicate  vegetable " 

"  Mercy  upon  us,  lieutenant,  what  can  you  be  thinking  of?  Love 
a  meat  and  a  vegetable  1" 

"  Precisely  ;  the  stomach " 

M0h  t  that  won't  do  at  all,  that  sort  of  talking,  lieutenant.    It 


SEAT   OF    INTELLECT.  347 

,iocs  RCem  to  me  as  if  you  brought  (he  stomach  into  every  thing, 
eron  sacred  tilings." 

"Nay,  nay,  reverse  the  phrase,  Humphries,  and  bring  all  sacred 
things  into  the  stomach." 

"  Well,  any  how,  Lieutenant  Porgy,  it  docs  seem  to  mo  that,  it's 
your  greatest  fault  to  make  too  much  of  your  belly.     You  spoil  it, , 
nml  after  a  while,  it  will  grow  so  impudent  that  there  will  be  no  \ 
living  with  it." 

"There  will  bo  no  living  without  it,  my  good  fellow,  and  that's 
Mifiicient  reason  for  taking  every  care  of  it.  What  yen;  cull  my 
greatest  fault  is  in  fact  my  greatest  merit.  You  never  heard  of 
Mcnenius  Agrippa,  I  reckon  ?" 

"Never;  didn't  know  there  was  such  a  person." 

"  Well,  I  shall  not  trouble  you  with  his  smart  sayings,  and  you 
must  be  content  with  mine  to  the  same  effect.  The  belly  is  a  great 
member,  my  friend,  a  very  great  member,  and  is  not  to  be  spoken 
of  irreverently.  It  is  difficult  to  say  in  what  respects  it  is  not 
great.  Its  claims  are  quite  as  various  as  they  are  peculiar.  It 
rcnlly  docs  all  one's  thinking,  as  well  as " 

11  The  belly  do  tho  thinking  ?" 

"  That's  my  notion.  lam  convinced,  however  people  may  talk  about  ' 
;lic  brain  as  the  seat  of  intellect,  that  the  brain  does  but  a  small  busi 
ness  nflcr  all,  in  the  way  of  thinking,  compared  with  the  beliy.  Of 
one  thing  be  certain:  before  you  attempt  to  argue  with  an  obstinate 
customer,  give  him  first  a  good  feed.  Bowels  of  compassion  arc  neci-s- 
*nry  to  brains  of  understanding,  and  a  good  appetite  and  an  easy 
•ligi'Rtion  are.  essentials  to  a  logical  comprehension  of  every  subject, 
ilio  least  difficult.  A  good  cook,  I  say,  before  a  good  school  house,  and 
n  proper  knowledge  of  condiments  before  orthography.  It  ia  a  bad 
digestion  that  makes  our  militiamen  run  without  emptying  a  nmskot ; 
nnd  when  you  find  an  officer  n  dolt,  as  is  too  much  my  exper^u'-e, 
you  may  charge  it  rather  upon  his  ignorance  of  food  than  of  fighting. 
A  good  cook  is  more  essential  to  the  success  of  an  army  than  a  good  ^ 
general.  But  that  reminds  me  of  Colonel  Walton.  Go  to  him,  Hili 
Humphries,  with  my  respects.  I  know  him  of  old  ;  he  will  remember 
mo.  I  have  enjoyed  his  ho-pit;»lity.  If  he  be  the  gentleman  that,  1 
tliink  him,  he  will  find  -i  sufficient  reason  for  delaying  his  jounicv 


848 


.;,••  * -tr  •*•:••  ••••'.•'•  ;-.«<-:-f.v- 

;..    •     ':'^'^':-'' ""'•":    ^"\.',r 

THE    TAinMSAK. 


(ill  afternoon,  when  he  hears  of  our  terrapin.  Bo  off  and  sec  him, 
lieutenant,  and  let  him  understand  what  ho  loses  by  going.  Givo 
him  particulars ;  you  may  mention  the  dexterity  of  Tom,  my  cook, 
in  doing  a  stew  or  ragout.  And,  by  the  way,  lieutenant,  pray  fake 
with  you  the  buckler  of  that  largest  boast.  If  the  sight  of  uial 
doesn't  make  him  open  his  eyes,  I  give  him  up.  Seo  to  it,  quickly, 
my  good  fellow,  or  you  may  lose  him,  and  he  the  stew." 

Humphries  laughed  outright  at  the  earnestness  of  the  epicure. 
Of  course  ho  understood  that  Porgy  had  a  certain  artificial  nature 
in  which  he  found  the  resources  for  his  jests ;  and  that  he  covered 
a  certain  amount  of  sarcasm,  and  a  philo.sophy  of  his  own,  under 
certain  affectations  at  which  ho  was  quite  content  that  the  world 
should  laugh,  believing  what  it  pleased.  Humphries  found  no  lit 
tle  pleasure  in  listening  to  the  shrewd  absurdities  and  thoughtful 
extravagances  of  his  brother  officer;  and  ho  could  sometime) 
understand  that  the  gravity  of  Porgy's  manner  was  by  no  means 
indicative  of  a  desire  that  you  should  take  for  gospel  what  he  said. 
But  ho  was  this  time  thoroughly  deceived,  and  was  at  much  painf 
to  prove  to  him  how  utterly  impossible  it  was  for  Colonel  Walton 
to  remain,  even  with  such  temptations  to  appetite  as  might  be  sol 
before  him. 

"The  fact  is,  lieutenant,  I  did  tell  the  colonel  what  you  had  for 
.him,  and  how  you  were  going  to  dress  the  terrapin  in  a  way  that 
never  had  been  seen  before." 

"  Ay,  ay  !    Hash,  stew,  ragout, — the  pig.     Well  ?" 

"Yes,  I  told  him  all,  as  well  as  I  knew,  but " 

"Ah,  you  boggled  about  it,  Bill;  you  couldn't  have  given  him 
any  just  idea " 

"  I  did  my  best,  lieutenant ;  and  ,  the  colonel  said  that  he  liked 
terrapin  soup  amazingly,  and  always  had  it  when  ho  could  get  it ; 
and  how  he  should  like  to  try  yours,  which  he  said  he  was  suro 
would  prove  a  new  luxury." 

"  Ay,  that  was  it.  I  would  have  had  his  opinion  of  the  dish,  for 
ho  knows  what  good  living  is.  There's  a  pleasure,  Humphries,  in 
having  a  man  of  taste  and  nice  sensibilities  about  us.  Our  affec 
tions — our  humanities,  if  T  may  so  call  them — are  then  properly 
exercised  •  but  it  is  throwing  pearl  to  swine  to  put  ft  good  (list 


A   MONSTER.  349 

before  such  a  creature  as  that  skeleton,  Oakenburg — Doctor  Oaken- 
burg,  as  the  d — d  fellow  presumes. to  call  himself.  He  is  a  monster 
— a  fellow  of  most  perverted  taste,  and  of  no  more  soul  than  a 
*kiou,  or  the  wriggling  lizard  that  he  so  much  resembles.  Only 
yesterday,  wo  had  a  nice  tit-bit — an  exquisite  morsel — only  a  taste 
— a  marsh  hen,  that  I  shot  myself,  and  fricasseed  after  a  fashion 
of  my  own.  I  tried  my  best  to  persuade  the  wretch  to  try  it — only 
lo  try  it — and  would  you  believe  it,  he  not  only  refused,  but 
absolutely,  at  the  moment,  drew  a  bottle  of  some  vile  root  decoc 
tion  from  his  pocket,  and  just  as  I  was  about  to  enjoy  my  own 
little  delicacy,  he  thrust  the  horrible  stuff  into  his  lantern"  jaws,  and 
swallowed  a  draught  of  it  that  might  have  strangled  a  cormorant. 
It  nearly  made  me  sick  to  see  him,  and  with  difficulty  could  I  keep 
myself  from  becoming  angry.  I  told  him  how  ungentlemanly  had 
been  his  conduct — taking  his  physic  where  decent  people  were 
enjoying  an  intellectual  repast — for  so  I  consider  dinner — and 
I  tliink  he  felt  the  force  of  Hie  rebuke,  for  he  turned  away  instantly, 
humbled  rather,  though  still  the  beast  was  in  him.  In  a  minute 
after,  he  was  dandling  his  d — d  coach  whip,  that  he  loves  like 
a  bedfellow.  It  is  strange,  very  strange,  and  makes  me  sometimes 

iloubtful   how  to  believe  in   human  nature  at  all.     It  is  such  a 

•* 

monstrous  budget  of  contradictions,  such  a  diabolical  scene  of  con 
flict  between  tastes  and  capacities." 

The  departure  of  Humphries  left  Porgy  to  the  domestic  duties 
which  lay  before  him,  and  cut  short  his  philosophies.  While  tho 
whole  camp  was  roused  and  running  to  the  spot  where  Walton's 
little  command  was  preparing  for  a  start,  our  epicure  and  his  man 
Tom — the  cook  par  excellence  of  the  encampment — were  the  only 
persons  who  did  not  shoAV  themselves  among  the  crowd.  As  for 
Tom,  he.  did  not  show  himself  at  all,  until  fairly  dragged  out  of  his 
bush  by  (he  rough  grasp  of  his  master  upon  his  shoulder.  Rubbing 
liis  eyes,  looking  monstrous  stupid,  and  still  half  asleep,  Tom  could 
not  forbear  a  surly  outbreak,  to  which,  in  his  indulgent  bondage, 
his  tongue  was  somewhat  accustomed. 

"  Ki !    Maussa :  you  no  lub  sleep  you'se'f,  da's  no  reason  why 
be  no  good  for  udder  people.      Nigger  lub  sleep,  Mass  Porgy 
15* 


_    . . . 

'850  THE   PARTISAN. 

• 

nn'  'taint  'spcc'ful  for  urn  to  git  up  in  do  morning  before  de 
Run." 

"  Ila !  you  ungrateful  rascal ;  but  you  get  up  monstrous  often 
when  its  back  is  turned.  Were  you  not  awake,  and  away  on 
your  own  affairs,  last  night  for  half  the  night,  you  might  have  found 
it  quite  respectable  to  be  awake  at  sunri^i.  Where  were  you  last 
night  when  I  called  for  you  ?" 

"  I  jist  been  a  hunting  a'ter  some  possum,  maussa.  Enty  you  lub 
possum." 

"  Well,  did  you  get  any  ?" 

"  Nebber  start,  maussa." 

"Pretty  hunting,  indeed,  not  to  start  a  possum  in  a  cypress 
swamp.  What  sort  of  dog  could  you  have  had  ?" 

"  llab  Jupc  and    Slink,   mnussa." 

"  You  will  be  wise  to  invite  me  when  you  go  to  hunt  again. 
Now,  open  your  eyes,  you  black  rascal,  and  see  what  hunting  I  can 
give  you.  Look  at  your  brethren,  sirrah,  and  get  your  senses  about 
you,  that  there  may  be  no  blunder  in  the  dressing  of  these  dear 
ckll<ltcn_pf  the  swamp.  Get  down  to  the  creek  and  give  your  face 
a  brief  introduction  to  the  water;  then  come  back  and  bo  mado 
happy,  in  dressing  up  these  bcabcs_for  society." 

"  Dah  mos'  beautiful,  fine  cooler,  maussa,  de  bes'  I  see  for  manj 
a  day.  Whay  you  nab  'em,  maussa  ?" 

"  Where  you  were  too  lazy  to  look  for  them,  you  rascal ;  on  the 
mi  cypress  log  running  along  by  the  pond  on  Crane  Hollow 
There  I  caught  them  napping  last  night,  while-  you  were  poking 
after '.  possum  with  a  drowsy  puppy.  Fortunately,  I  waked  while 
they  were  sleeping ;  I  cooned  the  log  and  caught  every  mother's 
son  of  them  :  and  that's  a  warning  to  you,  Tom,  never  to  go  tn 
.  sleep  on  the  end  of  a  log  of  a  dark  night." 

.  "  Hah  1  wha '  den,  maussa !  S'pose  any  body  gwino  cat  nigger 
oben  if  dey  catch  'em  ?  Tom  berry  hard  bittle  (victual)  forbuckrnh 
tomach." 

"  Make  good  cooler  soup,  Tom,  nevertheless !  Who  could  tell 
the  difference?  Those  long  black  slips  of  the  skin  in  terrapin  soup, 
look  monstrous  like  shreds  from  an  Ethiopian  epidermis;  and  the 


Niav  DISH.  351 

U>iu*  will  pass  current  ovury  where  for  nigger  toes  and  fingers. 
Tlio  Irish  soldiers  in  garrison  at  Charleston  and  Camden  wouldn't 
know  one  from  t'other.  Tom,  Tom,  if  ever  they  catch  you  sleep 
ing,  you  arc  gone  for  ever — gone  for  terrapin  stew!" 

"  Oh  !  Maussa,  I  wisli  you  lefi'  off  talking  'bout  sich  things.  You 
mek'  my  skin  crawl  like  yellow  belly  snake." 

"  Ay,  as  you  will  make  the  skin  of  other  people  crawl  when  they 
find  they  have  been  eating  a  nigger  for  a  terrapin.  But  away,  old 
loy,  and  get  every  thing  in  readiness.  See  that  your  pots  are  well 
Kourcd.  Get  me  some  large  gourds  in  which  we  may  mix  the 
ingredients  comfortably.  We  shall  want  all  the  appliances  you 
can  lay  hands  on.  I  am  about  to  invent  some  nc\v  dishes,  Tom  ;  a 
Mew  that  shall  surpass  anything  that  the  world  has  ever  known  of 
llic  sort.  Stir  yourself,  Tom,  if  you  would  have  a  decent  share;  of 
it.  When  you  once  taste  of  it,  you  rascal,  you  will  keep  your  eyes 
open  all  night, for  ever  after,  if  only  that  you  may  catch  terrapin." 

"  Hah  !  I  no  want  'em  mek'  too  good,  maussa,  eider  1  When 
do  t'ing  is  mek'  too  nice,  dey  nebber  leabs  so  much  as  a  tas'e  for 
«lc  cook.  Da's  it !" 

"I'll  see  to  it  this  time,  old  fellow.  You  are  too  good  a  judge 
of  good  dressing  not  to  be  allowed  a  taste.  You  shall  have  your 
sliare.  But,  away,  and  get  everything  in  readiness.  And  seo  that 
you  koep  off  the  dogs  and  all  intruders,  bipeds  and  quadrupeds. 
And,  Tom!" 

"  Sn !  wha'  'gen,  maussa  ?" 

"  Mind  the  calabashes ;  and  be  sure  to  get  some  herbs — dry  sago, 
Jiyme,  mint,  and,  if  you  can,  a  few  onions.  What  would  1  give 
for  n  score  or  two  of  lemons  !  And,  Tom  !" 

"  Sa  !" 

"Say  nothing  to  that  d — d  fellow  Oakenburg — do  you  hear, 
xir !" 

"  Enty  I  yerry,  raaussa ;  but  it's  no  use;  de  doctor  lub  snako 
tatter  more  nor  cooler." 

"  Away !" 

The  negro  was  gone  upon  his  mission,  and  throwing  himself  at 
length  upon  the  grass,  the  eyes  of  Porgy  alternated  between  th« 
r'uing  sun  and  the  empty  shells  of  his  terrapins. 


852  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  JTow  they  glitter !"  he  said  to  himself ^  "  what  a  beautifu. 
polish  they  would  admit  of!  It's  surprising  they  have  never  been 
usod  for  the  purposes  of  manly  oruamennt.  In  battle,  burnished 
well,  and  fitted  to  the  dress  in  front,  just  over  humanity's  most  con 
spicuous  dwelling-place,  they  would  turn  off  many  a  bullet  from 
that  sacred,  but  too  susceptible,  region." 

Musing  thus,  he  grappled  one  of  the  shells,  the  largest  of  the 
three,  and  turning  himself  upon  his  back,  with  his  head  resting 
against  a  pine,  he  proceeded  to  adjust  the  back  of  the  terrapin,  as  a 
sort  of  shield,  to  his  own  extensive  abdominal  domain.  Largo 
as  was  the  shell,  it  furnished  a  very  inadequate  cover  to  the  ample 
territory,  at  once  so  much  exposed  and  so  valuable.  It  was  while 
engaged  in  this  somewhat  ludicrous  experiment,  that  Lieutenant 
Porgy  was  surprised  by  Major  Singleton. 

Singleton  laughed  aloud  as  he  beheld  the  picture.  Porgy's 
faco  was  warmly  suffused  when  thus  apprised  of  the  presence  of  his 
superior. 

"  Not  an  unreasonable  application,  lieutenant,"  was  the  remark 
of  Singleton,  when  his  laughter  had  subsided,  "  were  there  any 
sort  of  proportion  between  the  shield  and  the  region  which  you 
wish  it  to  protect.  In  that  precinct  your  figure  makes  large  exac 
tions.  A  turtle,  rather  than  a  terrapin,  would  be  more  in  place. 
The  city  has  outgrown  its  walls." 

"  A  melancholy  truth,  Major  Singleton,"  answered  the  other,  as 
ho  arose  slowly  from  his  recumbent  posture,  and  saluted  his  supe 
rior  with  the  elaborate  courtesy  of  the  gentleman  of  the  old  school. 
"The  territory  is  too  large  certainly  for  the  walls;  but  I  am  a 
modest  man,  Major  Singleton,  and  a  stale  proverb  helps  me  to  an 
answer:  Half  a  loaf,  sir,  is  said  to  be  better  than  no  bread;  and 
half  a  shelter,  in  the  same  spirit,  is  surely  better  than  none. 
Though  inadequate  to  the  protection  of  the  whole  region,  this 
shell  might  yet  protect  a  very  vital  part.  Take  care  of  what  we 
can,  sir,  is  a  wholesome  rule,  letting  what  can,  take  caro  of  all  tlic 
rest." 

"  You  are  a  philosopher,  Mr.  -Torgy,  and  I  rejoice  in  the  belief 
that  you  are  fortified  even  b'.-tler  in  intellectual  and  moral  than 
physical  respects.  But  for  this,  sir,  it  might  not  be  agreeable  to 


THE    NECESSITY.  353 

you  to  have  to  hurry  to  the  conclusion  of  a  repast,  for  which,  I 
perceive,  you  arc  making  extraordinary  preparations." 

"  llurry,  Major  Singleton — hurry  ?"  demanded  the  epicure, 
looking  a  little  blank.  "  llurry,  sir !  I  never  hurried  in  my  life. 
Hurry  is  vulgar,  major,  decidedly  vulgar — a  merit  with  tradesmen 
only." 

"  It  is  our  necessity,  nevertheless,  lieutenant,  and  I  am  sorry  for 
your  sake  that  it  is  so.  We  shall  start  for  the  Santeo  before  sun 
set  this  afternoon.  This  necessity,  I  am  sorry  !o  think,  will  some 
what  impair  the  value  of  those  pleasant  meditations  which  usually 
follow  the  feast." 

Porgy's  face  grew  into  profound  gravity,  as  ho  replied — 

"Certainly,  the  reveries  of  such  a  period  are  the  most  gratefu 
mid  precious  of  all.  The  soul  asserts  its  full  influence  about  an 
liour  after  the  repast  is  over,  and  when  the  mind  seems  to  hover 
on  the  verge  of  a  dream.  I  could  wish  that  these  hours  should  bu 
left  unbroken.  Am  I  to  understand  you  seriously,  major,  that  the 
necessity  is  imperative — that  we  are  to  break  up  camp  here,  for 
POCK!  and  all  ?" 

"That  is  the  necessity.  For  the  present  we  must  leave  the 
Ashley.  We  move,  bag  and  baggage,  by  noon,  and  push  as  fast 
M  we  can  for  Nelson's  Ferry.  Our  place  of  retreat  here  will 
not  be  much  longer  a  place  of  refuge.  It  is  too  well  known  for 
safety,  and  we  shall  soon  bo  wanted  for  active  service  on  the 
frontier." 

"  I  confess  myself  unwilling  to  depart.  This  is  a  goodly  place, 
my  dear  major;  better  for  secresy  could  scarce  be  found  ;  and  then, 
tlio  other  advantages.  Fresh  provisions,  for  example,  are  more 
nbundant  here  than  in  Dorchester.  Pork  from  the  possum,  mutton 
from  the  coon  ;  these  ponds,  I  am  convinced,  will  yield  us  cat 
quite  as  lively  if  not  quite  so  delicate  as  the  far-famed  ones  of  the 
Kdi&to;  and  I  need  not  point  you  more  particularly  to  tho  interest- 
i'ljj  commodity  which  lies  before  us." 

"These  arc  attractions,  Mr.  Porgy ;  but  as  our  present  course 
lies  for  tho  Santce,  the  difference  will  not  be  so  very  great — ccr 
tninly  not  so  great  as  to  be  insisted  upon.  The  Santee  is  rich  in 
numberless  variet.es  offish  and  fowl,  and  my  own  eyes  have  feast 


.   .,  , 

354  .  THE   PARTISAN. 

cd  upon  terrapin  of  much  greater  dimensions,  and  much  larger 
numbers,  than  the  Cypress  yields."  t 

"  And  of  all  varieties,  major  ?  the  brown  and  yellow — not  to 
speak  of  the  alligator  terrapin,  whose  flavour,  though  unpopular 
with  the  vulgar,  is  decidedly  superior  to  that  of  any  other?  You 
speak  knowingly,  uajor  ?" 

"  I  do.  I  know  all  the  region,  and  have  lived  in  the  swamp  for 
weeks  at  a  time.  The  islands  of  the  swamp  there  are  much  larger 
than  hero ;  and  there  are  vast  lakes  in  its  depths,  where  fish  aro 
taken  at  all  hours  of  the  day  with  the  utmost  ease.  You  will  seo 
Colonel  Marion,  himself,  frequently  catching  his  own  breakfast." 

"I  like  that — a  commander  should  always  be  heedful  of  his 
/example.  That's  a  brave  man — a  fine  fellow — a  very  sensible  fel 
low — catches  his  own  breakfast!  Does  he  dress  it  too,  major?" 

'"  Ay,  after  a  fashion." 

"  Good  !  such  a  man  always  improves.  I  feel  that  I  shall  like 
him,  major,  this  commander  of  ours;  and  now  that  you  have 
enlightened  me,  sir,  on  the  virtues  of  the  Santee,  and  our  able 
colonel,  I  must  own  that  my  reluctance  to  depart  is  considerably 
lessened.  At  late  noon,  you  said?" 

"  At  late  noon." 

"I  thank  you,  Major  Singleton,  for  this  timely  notice.  With 
your  leave,  sir,  I  will  proceed  to  these  preparations  for  dinner, 
which  arc  vathcr  precipitated  by  this  movement.  That  rascally 
head  there,  major,"  kicking  away  the  gasping  head  of  one  of  the 
terrapins  as  he  spoke,  "seems  to  understand  the  subject  of  our  con 
versation — of  mine  at  least — and  opens  its  jaws  every  instai  t,  as 
if  it  hoped  some  one  of  us  would  fill  them." 

"  lie  contributes  so  largely  to  the  filling  of  other  jaws,  that  the 
expectation  seems  only  a  reasonable  one.  You  will  understand 
riie,  lieutenant,  as  an  expectant  with  the  rest." 

"  You  shall  taste  of  my  ragout,  my  dear  major,  a  preparation 
of " 

Hut  Singleton  was  gone,  and  Porgy  reserved  his  speech  for 
Tom,  the  cook,  who  now  appeared  with  his  gourds,  and  other  vessels, 
essential  to  the  duo  composition  of  such  dishes  as  our  fat  friend 
had  prescribed  for  the  proper  exercise  of  his  inventive  genius. 


COURTEOUS   INTERCOURSE. 

Major  Singleton  was  one  of  that  fortunately  constituted  and  pe 
culiar  race  of  men  who  are  of  all  others  the  best  filtec!  for  the 
conduct  of  a  militia  soldiery.  The  restive,  impulsive,  eager, 
untrained,  and  always  independent  character  of  our  people  of  the 
South  and  West,  requires  a  peculiar  capacity  to  direct  their  energies, 
reconcile  them  to  unwonted  situations,  hard  usage,  incessant  toil, 
and  the  drudgery  of  a  service,  so  much  of  which  is  held  to  be  de 
grading  to  the  citizen..  Singleton  possessed  the  art  in  perfection 
of  getting  good  service  out  of  his  followers,  and  keeping  them  at 
the  same  time  in  good  humour  with  their  snperioi.  He  could  bu 
familiar  without  encouraging  obtrusivencss  ;  could  descend  without 
losing  command;  could  wink  at  the  humours  which  it  might  bo 
unwise  to  rebuke,  yet  limit  the  mercurial  spirit  within  such  bounds, 
as  kept  him  usually  from  trespassing  beyond  the  small  province  of 
his  simple  humours.  T'i  obeying  him,  the  followers  of  Singleton 
somehow  felt  (hat  they  were  serving  a  friend,  yet  never  seemed  to 
forget  their  respect  in  their  sympathy. 

When  Singleton  left  Lieutenant  Porgy,  it  was  simply  to  walk 
the  rounds  of  his  encampment.  In  this  progress,  he  had  his 
friendly  word  for  all — some  word',  in  every  ear,  of  kind  remark 
nnd  pleasant  encouragement.  No  person,  however  humble,  went 
uUerly  unnoticed.  The  trooper,  trimming  away  the  thick  hairs 
from  the  fetlocks  of  his  horse,  or  paring  down  his  hoofs  ;  the  horse 
b<'y  who  took  the  steed  to  water;  the  camp  scullion  who  washed 
the  kettles  ;  the  group  of  nameless  persons — food  for  powder — 
huddled  together  in  idle  chat,  or  at  some  game,  or  mending 
bridles,  moulding  bullets,  or,  more  homely  yet  in  their  industry, 
'epairing  rents  in  coat  or  breeches — all  in  turn  were  sure,  as  the 
Major  of  Partisans  went  by,  to  hear  his  gentle  salutation,  in  those 
frank  tones  which  penetrated  instantly  to  the  heart,  a  sufficient 
guaranty  for  the  sincerity  of  the  speaker.  And  there  was  no 
fffort  in  this  familiar  frankness,  and  no  air  of  condescension.  lie 
was  n  man  speaking  to  men ;  and  did  not  appear  to  dream  of  any 
necessity  of  making  every  word,  look,  and  tone  remind  them  of  his 
auihority.  His  bearing,  when  not  engaged  in  the  ab.-.a'te  duties 
of  the  service,  was  that  of  an  equal,  simply.  And  yet  there  was 
really  no  familiarity  between  the  parties.  There  was  a  certain 


356  THE    PARTISAN. 

calmness  of  look  autl  gesture — a  certain  simplicity  of  Dianuet 
about  our- partisan,  too  easy  for  reserve,  too  graceful  for  indiffer 
ence,  which  always  and  effectually  restrained  the  obtrusive.  Uo 
rou  Id  smile  with  his  followers,  but  he  rarely  laughed  with  them. 
When  he  a..Jrcsscd  them,  he  did  so  with  great  respect,  which 
always  tutored  them  when  they  spoke  to  him.  lie  always  rose- 
for  this  purpose,  if  previously  he  had  been  sitting.  His  was  thai 
due  consideration  of  the  man,  as  a  man,  that  never  permitted  tin. 
Barno  person,  as  an  animal,  to  suppose  that  his  embraces  would  bo 
proper  to  his  intercourse.  Yet  nobody  ever  thought  of  acci'sing 
Singleton  of  pride.  Ilis  gentleness  of  manner,  ease  and  grace  and 
frankness  of  speech,  were  proverbial  among  his  men.  Truly,  ho 
was  the  man  to  be  a  leader  of  southern  woodsmen.  Even  now, 
while  his  heart  was  sorely  bleeding  with  fraternal  sorrows — fearing 
all,  yet  ignorant  still  of  the  extent  of  his  loss — he  smiled  pleasantly 
with  his  followers,  and  spoke  in  that  language  of  consideration 
which  seemed  to  show  that  he  thought  of  them  rather  than  him 
self.  They  did  not  know  that  the  reason  why  he  lingered  so  long 
among  them,  was  chiefly  that  he  might  escape  from  himself  and 
his  own  melancholy  thoughts. 

Having  gone  the  rounds,  seen  to  all  things,  and  properly  prepared 
his  men  for  the  march  by  sunset,  Singleton  threw  himself  down  in 
the  shadow  of  a  dwarf  oak,  beuetath  which  he  had  a  couch  of 
moss,  on  which  he  had  slept  the  night  before.  While  he  laj 
hero,  musing;  equally  over  his  duties  and  affections,  Lanco 
Framplon  plu'.xJd  himself  quietly  on  the  other  side  of  the  tree.  It 
was  some  time  before  the  lad  attracted  his  attention.  When  at 
length  he  noticed  his  appearance,  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  boy's 
face  was  full  of  a  grave  interest. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Lanco  3"  he  inquired  kindly. 

"  I  thought,  sir — I  was  afraid  that  you  were  sick,"  answered 
the  boy. 

"  Sick  1  1 1  sick !  Why,  what  should  make  me  sick  ?  Why 
should  you  suppose  that  I  am  sick  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  you  talked  and  groaned  so,  in  your  sleep,  thii 
morning." 

"  No,  surely  1     Is  it  possible !"     • 


NIGHTMARE. 

"Oh,  yes,  sir;  I  woke  before  daylight  and  heard  you,  and  it 
frightened  me,  sir." 

"  Frightened  you,  boy  !  That  i.s  an  ugly  confession  for  a  soldier 
to  make.  You  must  not  suffer  yourself  to  bo  frightened  by 
anything.  A  soldier  is  not  to  be  frightened,  even  when  surprised 
But  what  did  I  say  to  frighten  you  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  you  were  quarrelling  with  somebody  in  your  sleef , 
and  you  swore  too — " 

"  Swore !  Did  I  ?  A  trooper  habit,  Lance,  and  a  very  bad 
one,"  said  the  other  gravely.  "  Surely,  Lance,  I  did  not  swear. 
You  must  be  mistaken.  I  never  swear.  I  have  an  oath  in  heaven 
against  the  habit." 

This  was  said  with  a  grave  smile. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but  you  did  it  in  your  sleep." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  am  not  quite  responsible  for  what  is  done  in 
my  sleep  ;  but  the  fact  argues  for  the  possibility  of  my  doing  the 
thing  when  awake.  But  are  you  sure,  Lance,  you  were  not  asleep 
yourself,  and  dreamt  the  whole  matter  ?" 

"  Oh !  quite  sure,  sir,  for  I  got  up  and  looked  at  you.  It  was 
just  before  morning,  and  the  moon  was  shining  right  upon  your 
face.  I  went  round  and  broke  the  end  of  the  branch — you  se^ 
where  it  hangs,  sir — so  as  to  make  it  fall  betwixt  your  eyes  and  the 
moonlight,  and  after  that  your  face  was  quite  shaded.  But  you 
swore  again,  and  you  gnashed  your  teeth  together,  and  threw  out 
your  hands,  as  if  you  were  fighting  somebody  in  your  sleep." 

"  4.  decided  case  of  nightmare ;  and  you  would  have  done  me  a 
good  service,  Lance,  had  you  taken  me  by  the  shoulders,  and 
jerked  rne  out  of  my  dream.  But  I  thank  you  for  what  you  did. 
]Tou  are  a  good  youth,  and  properly  considerate ; — and  so  you 
broke  that  twig  to  protect  my  eyes  from  the  glare  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but  I  reckon  it  was  not  the  moonshine  that  troubled 
you,  but  something  in  your  own  thoughts,  for  you  swore  after 
wards  worse  than  ever." 

"  It  is  strange,"  said  bingleton,  gravely.  "  It  shows  thj» 
thoughts  to  be  more  wicked  than  we  suspect — I  had  almost  said 
more  wicked  when  sleeping  than  waking."  And  the  speaker 
mused  silently  after  hearing  this  account.  He  looked  to  th« 


868  THE    PABTJSAA. 

broken  bush,  and  the  gentle  devotion  of  his  yoithful  prot6g* 
touched  bis  heart.  Resuming,  be  said  gently — 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Lance,  that  I  swore  in  your  bearing.  1 
certainly  do  not  swear  wittingly.  I  try  not  to  fall  into  the  foolish 
habit,  which  I  beg  that  you  will  not  learn  from  me,  for  1  detest  it. 
In  kindness  to  me,  forget  what  you  heard,  and  in  duty  to  yourself, 
never  imitate  the  lesson.  To  make  you  remember  tbis  counsel,  I 
give  you  a  little  token.  Take  this  dirk,  and  recal  my  advice 
whenever  it  meets  your  eye.  Fasten  it  there,  with  the  sheath, 
close  by  the  left  side.  Let  the  point  come  out  a  little  in  front, 
while  the  handle  rests  under  the  arm.  Take  care  of  it.  It  may 
be  useful  to  you  in  various  ways.  It  has  saved  my  life  once ;  it 
may  save  yours;  but  use  it  only  when  it  is  necessary  to  such  a 
purpose.  You  may  leave  me  now,  and  for  the  morning,  amuse 
yourself  as  you  please  within  the  camp." 

The  boy,  made  happy  by  the  kindness  of  his  superior,  would 
gladly  have  lingered  beside  him,  but  he  quickly  saw  that  Singleton 
desired  to  be  alone.  He  disappeared  accordingly  from  sight, 
finding  no  difficulty,  among  the  various  humours  of  a  camp,  in 
whiling  away  the  hours  assigned  to  him  for  leisure. 

These  buinours  of  the  camp  !  But  it  is  time  that  we  see  what  pre 
parations  for  bis  feast  have  been  made  by  our  corpulent  Lieutenant 
of  Dragoons.  Of  course  he  was  busy  all  the  morning.  Porgy  had 
a  taste.  In  the  affairs  of  the  cuisine,  Porgy  claimed  to  have  a  genius. 
Now,  it  will  not  do  to  misconceive  Lieutenant  Porgy.  If  we  have 
said  or  shown  anything  calculated  to  lessen  bis  dignity  in  the  eye» 
of  any  of  our  readers,  remorse  must  follow.  Porgy  might  play 
the  buffoon,  if  he  pleased  ;  but  in  the  mean  time,  let  it  be 
understood,  that  he  was  born  to  wealth,  and  had  received  the 
education  of  a  gentleman.  He  had  wasted  his  substance,  perhaps, 
but  this  matter  does  not  much  concern  us  now.  It  is  only 
important  that  he  should  not  be  supposed  to  waste  himself.  He 
had  been  a  planter — was,  in  some  measure,  a  planter  still,  with 
broken  fortunes,  upon  the  Ashepoo.  "  He  had  had  losses,"  but  he 
bore  them  like  a  philosopher.  He  was  a  sort  of  laughing 
philosopher,  who,  as  if  in  anticipation  of  the  free  speech  of  Dthera, 
dealt  with  himself  as  little  mwifully  as  his  nearest  friends  migoi 


DIG1CITT.  359 

hare  done.  He  had  established  for  himself  a  sort  of  reputation  as 
a  humourist,  and  was  one  of  that  class  which  we  may  call 
conventional.  His  humour  belonged  to  sophistication.  It  wai 
the  fruit  of  an  artificial  nature.  He  jested  with  his  own  tastes, 
his  own  bulk  of  body,  his  own  poverty,  and  thus  baffled  the  more 
serious  jests  of  the  ill-tempered  by  anticipating  them.  We  may 
mention  here,  that  while  making  the  greatest  fuss,  always 
about  his  feeding,  he  was  one  of  the  most  temperate  eaters  in  the 
world. 

He  has  effected  his  great  culinary  achievement,  and  is  satisfied. 
See  him  now,  surrounded  by  his  own  mess,  which  includes  a 
doctor  and  a  poet.  A  snug  corner  of  the  encampment,  well 
shaded  with  pines  and  cypresses,  affords  the  party  a  pleasant 
shelter.  Their  viands  are  spread  upon  the  green  turf;  theii 
water  is  furnished  from  a  neighbouring  brooklet,  and  Tom,  the 
cook,  with  one  or  two  camp  scullions  waiting  on  him,  is  in  attend 
ance.  Tin  vessels  bear  water,  or  hold  the  portions  of  soup 
assigned  to  the  several  guests.  The  gourds  contain  adequate 
sources  of  supply,  and  you  may  now  behold  the  cleansed  shelli 
of  each  of  the  fated  terrapins  made  to  perform  the  office  of 
huge  dishes,  or  tureens,  which  hold  the  special  dishes  in 
the  preparation  of  which  our  epicure  has  exhausted  all  his 
culinary  arts. 

He  presides  with  the  complacent  air  of  one  who  has  done 
his  country  service. 

"  Tom,"  he  cries,  "  take  that  tureen  again  to  the  major's 
mess.  They  need  a  fresh  supply  by  this  time,  and  if  they  do  not, 
they  ought  to." 

The  calabash  from  which  Porgy  served  himself  was  empty 
when  he  gave  this  order.  In  being  reminded  of  his  own  wants, 
our  hoet  was  taught  to  recollect  those  of  his  neighbours.  Porgy 
was  eminently  a  gentleman.  His  very  selfishness  was  courtly. 
Tom  did  as  he  was  commanded,  and  his  master,  without  show  of 
impatience,  awaited  his  return.  In  those  days  no  one  was 
conscious  of  any  violation  of  propriety  in  taking  soup  a  second 
time ;  and  though  the  prospect  of  other  dishes  might  have  taught 
forbearance  to  certain  of  the  parties,  in  respect  to  the  soup,  yet  it 


360  THE   PARTISAN. 

was  too  evident  that  a  due  regard  to  the  feelings  of  the  host 
required  that  it  should  receive  full  justice  at  all  hands. 

1'orgy  was  in  the  best  of  humours.  He  was  conciliated  by  his 
comrades ;  and  he  had  succeeded  in  his  experiments — to  his  own 
satisfaction  at  least.  He  even  looked  with  complacency  upon  the 
lantern-jawed  and  crane-bodied  doctor,  Oakenburg,  whom,  as  we 
have  seen,  he  was  not  much  disposed  to  favour.  He  could  even 
expend  a  jest  upon  the  doctor  instead  of  a  sarcasm,  though  the 
jests  of  Porgy  were  of  a  sort,  as  George  Dennison  once  remarked, 
"to  turn  all  the  sweet  milk  sour  in  an  old  maid's  dairy."  Dr. 
Oakenburg  had  a  prudent  fear  of  the  lieutenant's  sarcasms,  and 
was  disposed  to  conciliate  by  taking  whatever  he  offered  in  the 
shape  of  food  or  counsel.  He  suffered  sometimes  in  consequence 
of  this  facility.  But  the  concession  was  hardly  satisfactory  to 
Porgy,  and  his  temper  was  greatly  tried,  when  he  beheld  his 
favourite  dishes  almost  left  untouched  before  the  naturalist,  who 
evidently  gave  decided  preference  to  certain  bits  of  fried  eel,  which 
formed  a  part  of  the  dinner  of  that  day. 

"  Eel  is  a  good  thing  enough,"  he  muttered  sotto  voce,  "  but  to 
hang  upon  eel  when  you  can  get  terrapin,  and  dressed  in  thia 
manner,  is  a  vice  and  an  abomination." 

Then  louder — 

"  How  do  you  get  on,  George  ?"  to  Dennison  ;  "  will  you  scoop 
np  a  little  more  of  the  soup,  or  shall  we  go  to  the  pie  ?" 

"  Pie  !"  said  Dennison.     "  Have  you  got  a  terrapin  pie  ?" 

"Ay,  you  have  something  to  live  (or.  Tom,  make  a  clearance 
here,  and  let's  have  the  pie." 

Tom  had  returned  from  serving  Singleton  and  his  immediate 
companions.  These  were  Humphries,  John  Davis,  Lance  Framp- 
ton,  and  perhaps  some  other  favourite  trooper.  They  had  dipped 
largely  into  the  soup.  They  were  now  to  bo  permitted  to  try  tlw 
terrapin  pie  upon  which  Porgy  had  tried  his  arts.  They  sat  in  a 
quiet  group  apart  from  the  rest  of  the  command,  who  were  squat 
ting  in  sundry  messes  all  about  the  swamp  hammocks.  Let  us 
mention,  par  parenthese,  that  John  Davis  had  mustered  the  courage 
to  make  a  full  confession  to  his  superior  of  his  last  night's  adven 
ture,  of  his  projected  duel  with  Hastings,  and  how  the  latter  was 


MODESTY.  861 

murdered'  by  the  maniac  Frampton.  Of  course,  Singleton  beard 
the  story  with  great  gravity,  and  administered  a  wholesome  rebuke 
to  the  offender.  Under  the  circumstances  he  could  do  DO  more. 
To  punish  was  not  his  policy,  where  the  criminal  was  so  clever  a 
trooper.  He  had  done  wrong,  true;  but  there  was  some  apology 
for  him  in  the  wrongs,  performed  and  contemplated,  of  the  British 
sergeant.  Besides,  he  had  honestly  acknowledged  his  error,  and 
deplored  it,  and  it  was  not  difficult  to  grant  his  pardon,  particularly 
while  they  were  all  busy  over  the  soup  of  Porgy.  If  forgiveness 
had  been  reluctant  before,  it  became  ready  when  the  pie  was  set  in 
sight.  Porgy's  triumph  was  complete.  Singleton  did  not  finish 
his  grave  rebuke  of  the  offender,  while  helping  himself  from  the 
natural  tureen  which  contained  the  favourite  dish.  Nothing  could 
be  more  acceptable  to  all  the  party.  When  the  pie,  shorn  largely 
of  its  fair  proportions,  was  brought  back  to  our  epicure,  his  pro 
ceeding  was  exquisitely  true  to  propriety.  Loving  the  commodity 
as  he  did,  and  particularly  anxious  to  begin  the  attack  upon  it,  he 
yet  omitted  none  of  his  customary  politeness — a  forbearance 
scarcely  considered  necessary  in  a  dragoon  camp. 

"  There,  Tom,  that  will  do.  Set  it  down.  It  will  stand  alone. 
Did  the  major  help  himself?" 

"  He  tek'  some,  maussa." 

"  Some !  Did  he  not  help  himself  honestly,  and  like  a  man  with 
Christian  appetite  and  bowels  ?" 

"  He  no  tek'  'nough,  like  Mass  Homphry,  and  Mass  Jack 
Dabis,  but  he  tek'  some,  and  Mass  Lance,  he  tek'  some,  jis'  like 
the  major." 

"  Humph!  he  took  a  little,  you  mean.  A  little  !  Did  he  look 
sick,  Tom — the  major  ?" 

"  No,  sah  !     lie  look  and  talk  berry  well." 

"  Ah  !  I  see ;  he  helped  himself  modestly,  like  a  gentleman,  a 
first;  we  shall  try  him  again.  And  now  for  ourselves.  Gentlemen, 
you  shall  now  see  what  art  can  do  with  nature;  how  it  can  glorifj 
the  beast ;  how  it  can  give  wings  to  creeping  things.  George 
Dennison,  you  need  not  be  taught  this.  Help  yourself,  my  good 
fellow,  and  let  this 'terrapin  pie  inspire  your  muse  to  new  flight*. 

16 


362  THE    PARTISAN. 

Mr.  Wilkins,  suffer  me  to  lay  a  tew  spoonsful   of  this  pie  in  you* 
calabash.     Nay,  don't  hang  back,  man  ;  the  supply  is  abundant." 

The  modest  Mr.  Wilkins,  who  was  coquetting  only  with  his  hap 
piness,  was  easily  persuaded,  and  Porgy  turned  to  Oakenburg,  who 
was  still  eeling  it. 

"  Dr.  Oakenburg  !"  with  a  voice  of  thunder. 

"  Sir — Lieutenant — ah  !"   very  much  startled. 

"Doctor  Oakenburg,  let  me  entreat  you  to  defile  your  lips  no 
longer  with  that  villanous  fry.  Don't  think  of  eel,  sir,  when  you 
can  pel  terrapin  ;  and  such  as  this." 

"  I  thank  you,  lieutenant,  but — yes,  I  really  thank  you  very 
much  ;  but,  as  you  see,  I  have  not  yet  consumed  entirely  the 
soup  which  you  were  so  good " 

"  And  why  the  d — 1  haven't  you  consumed  it  ?  It  was  cooked  to 
be  consumed.  Why  have  you  wasted  time  so  imprudently  ?  That 
soup  is  now  not  fit  to  be  eaten.  You  have  suffered  it  to  get  cold. 
There  are  certain  delights,  sir,  which  are  always  to  be  taken  warm. 
To  delay  a  pleasure,  when  the  pleasure  is  ready  to  your  hands,  is 
to  destroy  a  pleasure.  And  then,  sir,  the  appetite  grows  vitiated, 
and  the  taste  dreadfully  impaired  after  eating  fry.  The  finest 
delicacy  in  the  world  suffers  from  such  contact.  Send  that  soup 
away.  Here,  Tom,  take  the  doctor's  calabash.  Throw  that 
shrivelled  fry  to  the  dog,  and  wash  the  vessel  clean.  Be  quick, 
you  son  of  Beelzebub,  if  you  would  hope  for  soup  and  salvation." 

The  indignation  of  Porgy  was  making  him  irreverent.  His 
anger  increased  as  the  tasteless  doctor  resisted  his  desires  and  clung 
to  his  eel. 

"  No  !  Tom,  no.  Excuse  me,  lieutenant,  but  I  am  pleased  with 
this  eel,  which  is  considerably  done  to  my  liking.  It  is  a  dish 
I  particularly  affect." 

Porgy  gave  him  a  savage  glance,  while  spooning  the  pie  into  his 
own  calabash.  Tom,  the  negro,  meanwhile,  had  possessed  himsel'' 
of  the  doctor's  dishes,  and  the  expectant  dog  was  already  in  pos 
session  of  the  remnant  of  his  eel. 

"  Maussa  say  I  must  tck'  urn,  Mass  Oakenbu'g,"  was  th« 
apologetic  response  of  the  negro  to  the  remonstran  jes  of  the 
doctor. 


EATING.  363 

u  Clean  the  gourds,  Tom,  for  the  doctor  as  quickly  as  possible ! 
That  a  free  white  man  in  a  Christian  country  should  prefer  eel  fry 
to  terrapin  stew  !  Doctor  Oakenburg,  where  do  you  expect  to  go 
when  you  die  ?  I  ask  the  question  from  a  belief — rather  staggered, 
I  must  confess,  by  what  I  have  seen — that  you  really  have  some 
thing  of  a  soul  left.  You  once  had,  doubtless." 

The  poor  naturalist  seemed  quite  wobegone  and  bewildered. 
His  answer  was  quite  as  much  to  the  point  as  it  was  possible  for 
him  to  make  it  at  any  time. 

"Really,  lieutenant,  I  don't  know;  I  can't  conjecture,  but  I 
trust  to  some  place  of  perfect  security." 

"  Well,  for  your  own  sake,  I  hope  so  too ;  and  the  better  to 
make  you  secure,  could  I  have  a  hand  in  disposing  of  you,  I  should 
doom  your  soul  to  be  thrust  into  an  eelskin,  and  hung  up  to  dry  in 
the  tropic  from  May  to  September  every  year.  Of  one  thing  you 
may  rest  assured — if  there  be  anything  like  justice  done  to  you 
hereafter,  you  will  have  scant  fare,  bad  cooking,  and  fry  for  ever, 
wherever  you  go.  Prefer  eel  to  terrapin !  Tom  !" 

"  Sah !" 

"  Bring  me  a  clean  calabash  of  water,  and  hand  the  jug.  A  little 
Jamaica,  my  good  fellow,  to  wash  down  our  Grecians.  Prefer  eel  to 
terrapin  !  George  Dennison,  have  you  done  at  last  ?  How  these 
poets  eat!  Mr.  Wilkins,  you  have  not  finished  ?  Come,  sir,  don't 
spare  the  pie.  It  is  not  every  day  that  happiness  walks  into  one's 
lodgings  and  begs  one  to  help  himself.  It  isn't  every  day  that  one 
captures  such  terrapins  as  these,  and  sits  down  to  such  cooking  and 
compounding.  Tom  and  myself  are  good  against  a  world  in  arts. 
What !  no  more  ?  Well,  I  can't  complain.  I  too  have  done, 
a  little  morsel  more  excepted.  Torn,  hand  me  that  tureen.  I  must 
•have  another  of  those  eggs." 

The  epicure  scooped  them  up  and  swallowed. 

"  What  a  flavour — how  rich  !  Ah !  George,  this  is  a  day  to  be 
marked  with  a  white  stone.  Tom,  take  awav  the  vessel.  I  have 
done  enough." 

"  Ki,  maussa,  you  no  leff  any  eggs.'' 

"  No  eggs  I"  cried  the  gourmand  ;  "  why,  what  the  deuce  do  yon 
jail  that,  and  that,  and  that  ?"  stirring  them  over  with  the  spool 


364  THE    PARTISAN. 

as  he  spofce.  "  Bless  me,  I  did  not  think  there  were  half  so  umuy 
Stop,  Tom,  I  will  take  but  a  couple  more,  aud  then — there — tha 
will  do — you  may  take  the  rest." 

The  negro  hurried  away  with  his  prize,  dreading  that  Porgy 
would  make  new  discoveries ;  while  that  worthy,  seasoning  his 
calabash  of  water  with  a  moderate  dasli  of  Jamaica  irom  the  jug 
beside  him,  concluded  the  repast  to  which  he  had  annexed  so  much 
importance. 

"So  much  is  secure  of  life!"  he  exclaimed,  when  he  had  done. 
"  I  am  satisfied — I  have  lived  to-day,  and  nothing  can  deprive  me 
of  the  22d  June,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  seven  hun 
dred  and  eighty,  enjoyed  in  the  Cypress  Swamp.  The  day  is  com 
pleted  :  it  should  always  close  with  the  dinner  hour.  It  is  then 
secure — we  cannot  be  deprived  of  it :  it  is  recorded  in  the  history 
of  hopes  realized,  and  of  feelings  properly  felt.  And,  hark  I  the 
major  seems  to  think  with  me,  since  the  bugle  rumbles  up  for  a 
start.  Wilkins — old  fellow — if  you'll  give  me  a  helping  hand 
in  hoisting  on  this  coat" — taking  it  from  the  bough  of  a  tree  (he 
had  dined,  we  may  add,  in  his  shirt  sleeves) — "  you  will  save  me 
from  exertions  which  are  always  unwisely  made  after  dinner.  So ! 
that  will  do.  Thank  you !  It  is  a  service  to  be  remembered." 

The  camp  was  all  astir  by  this  time.  Porgy  looked  around  him 
coolly,  and  chafed  at  the  hurry  which  he  beheld  in  others. 

"  Ho !  there,  Corporal  Millhouse,  see  to  your  squad,  my  good  fel 
low.  Dennison,  my  boy,  you  will  ride  along  with  me.  I  shall  want 
to  hear  some  of  that  new  ballad  as  we  go.  Ah !  boy,  we  shall 
have  to  put  some  of  your  ditties  into  print.  They  are  quite  as 
good  as  thousands  of  verses  that  are  so  honoured.  They  are  good, 
George,  and  /  know  it,  if  nobody  else.  ...  So  ho !  There  !  Tom, 
you  rascal,  will  you  be  at  that  stew  all  day  ?  Hurry,  you  sable  son 
of  Ethiop,  and  don't  forget  to  unsling  and  to  pack  up  the  hambone. 
Needn't  mind  the  calabashes.  We  can  get  them  eyery  where 
along  the  road.  .  .  .  What  \  you're  not  about  to  carry  that  snake 
along  with  you,  Doctor  Oakenburg!  Great  Heavens!'  what  a 
reptile  taste  that  fellow  has!  ...  Ha!  Lance,  my  boy,  is  that 
you  ?  Well,  you  relished  the  pie,  didn't  you  f" 

a  'Ttww  good,  lieutenant." 


866 

"  Good !  It  was  yreat !  But  you  are  in  a  hurry.  Mounted 
already !  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  follow  suit.  I  see  the  major's 
ready  to  mount  also.  Do  me  a  turn,  Lance  ;  help  me  on  with  my 
belt,  which  you  see  hanging  from  yonder  tree.  It  takes  in  a  world 
of  territory.  There  !  That  will  do." 

Humphries  now  rode  up. 

"  To  horse,  lieutenant,  as  soon  as  you  can.  The  major's  looking 
a  little  wolfish." 

"  Ay,  ay !  needs  must  when  the  devil  drives.  And  yet  this 
moving  just  after  a  hearty  meal  upon  terrapin  !  Terrapin  stew 
or  pie  seems  to  impart  something  of  the  sluggishness  of  the  beast 
to  him  who  feeds  upon  it.  I  must  think  of  this ;  whether  it  is  not 
the  case  with  all  animals  to  influence  with  their  own  nature,  that 
of  the  person  who  feeds  on  them.  It  was  certainly  the  notion  of 
the  ancients.  A  steak  of  the  lion  might  reasonably  be  supposed  to 
nipart  courage  ;  wolf  and  tiger  should  make  one  thirst  for  blood  ; 
and" — seeing  Oakenburg  ride  along  at  this  moment — "  who  should 
wonder  suddenly  to  behold  that  crane-bodied  cormorant,  after  eating 
fried  eel,  suddenly  twisting  away  from  his  nag,  and,  with  squirm 
and  wriggle,  sliding  oft'  into  the  mud?  If  ever  he  disappears 
suddenly,  I  shall  know  how  to  account  for  his  absence." 

Thus  it  was  that  Lieutenant  Porgy  soliloquized  himself  out  of 
the  swamp.  He  was  soon  at  the  head  of  his  squad,  and  Singleton's 
orders  became  urgent.  Once  with  the  duty  before  him,  our  epi 
cure  was  as  prompt  as  any  of  his  neighbours.  In  an  hour,  and  all 
were  ready  for  the  start — the  partisans  and  their  prisoners ;  and, 
conspicuous  in  the  rear  of  his  master's  command,  Tom,  the  cook, 
followed  closely  by  his  dog  ;  a  mean  looking  cur  significantly  called 
"  Slink."  Never  was  dog  more  appropriately  named.  All  negro 
dogs  are  more  or  less  mean  of  spirit,  but  surly,  and  cunning  in  the 
last  degree;  but  Slink  was  the  superb  of  me<'»r»  .ess  even  among 
negro  dogs.  He  was  the  most  shame-faced,  creeping,  sneaking 
beast  you  ever  saw ;  as  poor  of  body  as  of  spirit ;  eating  vora 
ciously  always,  yet  always  a  mere  skeleton,  besmeared  with  the 
ashes  and  cinders  in  which  he  lay  nightly — a  habit  borrowed,  we 
suspect,  from  his  owner ;  and  such  was  the  meanness  of  his  spirit, 
that,  having,  from  immemorial  time,  neglected  the  due  elera- 
16 


366  THE    PARTISAN. 

tion  of  his  tail,  he  now  seemed  to  have  lost  aL  sense,  and  indeed, 
all  capability,  for  the  achievement.  There  it  hung  for  ever  deplor 
ably  down,  as  far  as  it  could  go  between  his  legs,  and  seemed  everv 
day  to  grow  more  and  more  despicably  fond  of  earth.  Such  was 
"  Slink"  always  in  the  white  man's  eye ;  but  see  "  Slink"  when  it 
is  his  cue  to  throttle  a  fat  shote  in  the  swamp,  and  his  character 
undergoes  a  change.  You  then  see  that  phase  of  it,  which,  more 
than  any  thing  besides,  endears  the  dirty  wretch  to  his  negro  master 

It  was  an  evil  hour  for  Slink,  when,  under  the  excitement  of 
departure,  he  suffered  himself  to  trot  ahead  of  his  owner,  and  pass 
for  a  moment  from  rear  to  front  of  the  command.  It  was  not 
often  that  he  suffered  himself  to  put  his  beauties  of  person  too 
prominently  forward.  What  evil  mood  of  presumption  possessed 
him  on  the  present  occasion,  it  is  difficult  to  conceive ;  but  Slink 
in  proper  keeping  with  Tom,  his  owner,  in  the  swamp,  might  keep 
himself  in  perfect  security,  as  well  as  Oakenburg.  His  danger  was 
in  passing  out  from  his  obscurity  into  the  front  ranks.  Lieutenant 
Porgy  beheld  the  beast  as  he  trotted  in  advance,  with  a  rare 
sentiment  of  disgust, — a  feeling  which  underwent  great  increase 
when  he  saw  that  the  dog's  spirit  underwent  no  elevation  with  his 
advance,  and  that  his  caudal  extremity  was  just  as  basely  drooping 
as  before.  Porgy  summoned  Tom  to  the  front,  and  pointed  to  the 
dog.  Slink  instantly  saw  that  something  was  wrong,  and  tried  to 
slink  out  of  sight  under  the  legs  of  the  horses.  But  it  was  too 
late.  Eyes  had  seen  his  momentary  impertinence  which  seldom 
saw  in  vain. 

"  Tom,"  said  Porgy,  "  that  dog's  tail  must  be  cut  off  close  to  his 
haunches." 

"  Cut  off  Slink's  tail,  maussa!  You  want  for  kill  de  dog  for 
ebber?" 

"It  won't  kill  him,  Tom.  Cut  it  off  close,  and  sear  the  stump 
with  a  hot  iron.  It  must  be  done  to-night." 

"But,  maussa,  he  will  spile  de  dog  for  ebber." 

"  Not  so,  Tom ;  it  will  make  him,  if  any  thing  can.  Don't  you 
•ee  that  he  can't  raise  it  up  ;  that  it's  in  the  way  of  his  legs ;  that 
it  makes  him  run  badly.  It  is  like  a  dragoon's  sword  when  he'i 
walking :  always  getting  between  his  legs  and  tripping  him." 


SLINK'S  TAIL.  867 

a  Slink  can't  do  widout  he  tail,  maussa !"  answered  Tom  with 
becoming  doggedness. 

'•'  lie  must,  Tom." 

"He  lub  he  tail  'twix  he  leg  so;  he  no  hu't  (hurl)  he  miming." 

"All  a.  mistake,  Tom.  It's  in  his  way,  and  he  feels  it.  That's 
the  true  reason  why  he  looks  so  mean,  and  always  carries  his  head 
so  sheepishly.  It  must  be  a  terrible  mortification  to  any  dog  of 
sensibility  when  he  has  a  tail  that  he  can  never  elevate.  Cut  off 
the  tail,  and  you  will  see  how  he  will  improve." 

"  You  t'ink  so,  maussa !  /  nebber  ken  t'iuk  so.  'Twon't  do 
for  cut  off  Slink  tail." 

"  Either  his  tail  or  his  head.  He  must  lose  one  or  t'other  to 
night,  Torn.  See  that  it  is  done.  If  I  see  him  to-morrow  with 
more  than  one  inch  of  stump  between  his  legs,  I  shoot  him  !  By 
Jupiter  Arnmon,  Tom,  I  shoot  him !  and  you  know  when  I  swear 
by  a  Greek  god  that  I  am  sure  to  keep  my  oath.  In  this  way, 
Tom,  I  mortify  Greek  faith  !  You  understand,  Tom,  with  more 
than  one  inch  of  tail  he  dies !  Let  it  be  seen  to  this  very  night 
when  we  come  to  a  halt." 

"  He  'mos  (almost)  as  bad  for  cut  he  tail  as  he  head,  maussa." 

"  Be  it  the  head  then,  Tom ;  I  don't  care  which ;  and  now  fall 
back,  old  fellow,  and  whistle  back  the  beast.  The  sight  of  his 
miserable  tail  distresses  me." 

And  Porgy  rode  forward  ;  and  Tom,  whistling  back  the  unhappy 
cur,  muttered  as  he  fell  behind : 

"  Maussa  berry  sensible  pusson,  but  sometime  he's  a'  mos'  too 
d — n  foolish  for  talk  wid.  Whay  de  harm  in  Slink  tail  ?  Slink 
carry  he  tail  so  low  to  de  groun',  people  nebber  sh'um  (see  'em) — 
nobody  gwine  sh'um  but  maussa,  and  he  hab  he  eye  jes  whay 
nobody  ebber  want  'em  for  look." 

But  the  last  bugles  sound  shrilly  and  mournfully  as  the  cavalcade 
speeds  away  in  a  long  train  through  the  swamp  avenues,  and  Tom 
ia  compelled  to  forego  his  soliloquies  and  hurry  forward  with  the 
dog,  Slink,  who,  as  if  conscious  of  his  error,  has  dropped  just  as 
far  back  in  the  rear,  as  before  he  indiscreetly  went  ahead.  The 
miserable  beast  little  anticipates  the  loss  that  awaits  him.  Fortu 
nately  Tom  feels  for  him  all  that  is  proper.  He  rides  forward 


308  THE  PARTISAN. 

enveloped  in  his  own  and  master's  luggage,  and  he  too  and  Slink 
both  finally  disappear  in  the  far  shadows  of  the  wood.  The  cypresa 
swainp  of  the  Ashley  rests  in  the  profoundest  silence,  a«  if  if  -.ever 
had  been 


CHAPTER    XXXiV, 

'The  hour  ;il  hand,  the  fueman  near 
The  biting  brand,  llu;  st«e!y  spear, 

The  spiiit  vex'd  and  wann, — 
And  these  are  nil  the  freeman  wants, 
Who,  for  the  struggle,  pinna  and  paiitt, 

And  never  knew  alarm. 
Then  let  (he  fooman  come  and  feel 
How  dread  the  blo\v  his  hand  can  deal, 

When  freedom  nerves  his  arm." 
\     .  . 

AM  how  after  these  movements,  and  no  one  would  suspect, 
from  die  dead  silence  that  prevailed  throughout  the  region,  that  it 
ever  had  been  occupied  by  such  wild  and  royslering  fellows  as 
those  with  whom  we  have  just  had  dinner.  Proctor's  scouts  might 
find  everywhere  the  proofs  of  their  occupation,  in  the  beaten 
ground,  the  broken  utensils,  and  the  embers  of  recent  fires.  But 
of  the  occupants  themselves  there  were  no  signs. 

Singleton,  meanwhile,  sent  his  scouts  forward  at  a  scouring  pace 
lie  led  his  little  command  more  slowly,  but  still  at  a  gait  which 
would  render  pursuit  difficult  by  a  force  larger  than  his  own,  01 
less  admirably  mounted.  One  secret  of  the  success  of  Marion's 
men,  was  in  the  excellence  of  their  horses,  which  were  always  well 
chosen  from  the  best  stables  in  the  country.  Our  partisan  made 
them  show  their  legs.  Aiming  to  make  the  Nelson's  Ferry  road  as 
soon  as  possible,  he  struck  directly  across  the  country,  under  the 
guidance  of  Humphries  and  Davis,  who  knew  every  turn  and  twist, 
short  cut  and  blind  path,  leading  through  the  forests  of  this  neigh 
bourhood.  Speaking  comparatively,  however,  they  sped  along  but 
slowly,  leaving  the  scouts  considerably  in  advance.  They  had 
made  no  great  progress  when  night  began  to  settle  down  upon  the 
oarty.  With  the  approach  of  darkness,  Singleton  cast  about  for  a 
secluded  spot  in  which  to  form  a  temporary  encampment.  Thie 
was  finally  found  in  a  thick  wood  to  which  they  inclined  out  o{ 


370  THE  PARTISAN 

sight  and  hearing  from  the  road.  The  scouts  had  received  thelf 
instructions  to  fall  back  with  the  setting  in  of  dusk,  and  report 
their  discoveries ;  all  of  which  was  done.  Here,  without  building 
fires,  they  took  a  brief  and  supperless  rest,  until  the  moon  rose, 
when  the  troop  was  again  set  in  motion,  and  posting  forward  along 
the  prescribed  route. 

With  the  dawn  of  day,  they  found  themselves,  according  to  the 
calculations  of  the  guides,  within  a  few  miles  only  of  the  Ferry 
road.  A  little  more  caution  was  now  necessary  to  their  progress. 
They  were  in  a  travelled  region,  and  the  scouts  were  doubled. 
The  troop  entered  the  road  an  hour  or  so  after  sunrise,  without 
meeting  with  any  interruption  or  object  worthy  their  attention. 
In  this  manner  they  proceeded  for  some  hours,  seeing  no  human 
being.  The  whole  route,  however,  was  marked  by  the  devastating 
proofs  of  war,  which  were  thick  on  every  side  of  them.  The 
broken  fences,  the  shattered  or  half-consumed  dwellings,  the 
implanted  and  unploughed  fields,  all  in  desertion,  spoke  fearfully 
for  its  attributes  and  presence.  But  suddenly,  towards  noon,  the 
scouts  were  met  by  a  countryman,  his  wife,  and  two  children, 
flying  from  the  foe.  It  was  difficult  to  convince  them  that  they 
had  not  fallen  in  with  another ;  and  they  told  their  story,  accord 
ingly,  in  fear  and  trembling. 

They  told  of  a  tory  named  Amos  Gaskens,  a  notorious  wretch 
before  the  war,  who  had  raised  a  party  and  had  been  devastating 
the  neighbouring  country  throughout  St.  Stephens  and  St.  Johns, 
Berkley.*  His  numbers  were  increasing,  and  he  stopped  at  no 
excesses.  On  most  of  the  plantations  through  which  he  had  gone, 
every  house  was  burned  to  the  ground,  the  stock  wantonly  shot,  the 
people  plundered,  and  either  murdered,  forced  to  follow  their  captors, 
or  compelled  to  fly  to  places  of  refuge  the  most  wild  and  deplorable. 
The  little  family  they  had  encountered  had  been  thus  dispossessed. 
They  had  only  saved  their  lives  by  a  timely  notice,  which  a  friend 
among  the  tories  had  given  them  of  their  approach.  They  insisted 

History  has  ^eemecUtlns  monster  of  suffie  ent  importance  to  record 
ty  of  hia  deeds.     He  was,  fur  some  time,  tl  e  dread  of  this  section  of 
•ountry. 


THE   AMBUSH.  871 

that  Gaskens  could  not  be  many  miles  off,  and  would  certainly 
meet  them  before  noon,  as  be  was  on  his  way  to  Charleston  with 
his  prisoners  and  seeking  his  reward. 

Singleton  determined  to  prepare  for  him  a  warm  reception,  and 
having  ascertained  that  the  force  under  Gaskens  fully  doubled  his 
own,  he  laid  his  plans  to  neutralize  this  superiority  by  the  employ 
ment  of  the  usual  cunning  of  the  partisan.  According  to  the 
account  of  the  flying  countryman,  there  was  a  beautiful  little  spring 
some  three  miles  higher,  not  more  than  a  stone's  throw  from  the 
roadside  ;  this  was  the  only  good  drinking  water  for  some  distance, 
and,  as  it  was  well  known  to  wayfarers,  it  was  concluded  that  Gas- 
kens  would  make  use  of  it  as  a  place  of  rest  and  refreshment. 
Here,  Singleton  determined  to  place  his  ambuscade ;  and  as  it  was 
necessary  to  reach  it  some  time  in  advance  of  his  enemy,  he  pushed 
his  troop  forward  at  a  quicker  pace.  They  reached  the  spot  in 
time,  and  gliding  out  of  the  road,  were  soon  in  possession  of  the  de 
sired  station. 

The  spring  was  one  of  those  quiet  waters  that  trickle  along  the 
hollow  which  they  have  formed,  and  with  so  gentle  a  murmur,  that, 
though  but  a  brief  distance  from  the  road,  no  passing  ear,  however 
acute,  could  possibly  detect  its  prattling  invitation.  The  water  was 
cool  and  refreshing;  the  overhanging  trees  gave  it  a  pleasant  and 
fitting  shelter,  which  scarcely  rendered  necessary  the  small  wooden 
shed  which  had  been  built  above  it  by  some  one  of  the  considerate 
dwellers  in  the  neighbourhood.  War,  in  its  violence,  however 
destructive  else,  had  spared,  with  a  becoming  reverence,  the  foun 
tain  and  the  little  roof  above  it.  The  whole  spot  was  exceedingly 
pretty  ;  wild  vines  and  florid  grapes  clustered  over  it ;  a  little  clump 
of  wild  flowers  grew  just  at  its  porch ;  while  a  fine  large  oak, 
standing  on  the  brow  of  the  little  hill  at  the  bottom  of  which  the 
fountain  had  its  source,  took  the  entire  area  into  its  Blustering 
embrace.  The  wild  jessamine,  and  the  thousand  flaunting  blossoms 
of  the  southern  forests,  grew  profusely  about  the  place ;  and  in  that 
hour  of  general  repose  in  Carolina  during  the  summer  months — 
the  hour  of  noon — when  all  nature  is  languid;  when  the  bird 
hushes  his  fitful  note,  or  only 

"  Starts  into  voice  a  moment,  and  i»  still  f 


S72  THE   PARTISAN. 

•vhen  man  and  beast,  reptile  and  insect,  alike  seek  for  the  shade 
and  pant  drowsily  beneath  its  shelter — this  little  hollow  of  the 
woods,  and  the  clear  stream  welling  over  the  little  basin  around 
which  its  dwelling-place  had  been  formed,  and  trickling  away  in  a 
prattling  murmur  that  discoursed  twin  harmonies  to  the  sluggish 
breeze  that  shook  at  intervals  the  tree  above  it,  seemed  eminently  a 
scene  chosen  for  gentle  spirits,  and  a  purpose  grateful  to  the  softest 
delicacies  of  humanity.  Yet  was  its  sacred  and  sweet  repose  about 
to  be  invaded.  War  had  prepared  his  weapon  and  lay  waiting  in 
the  shade. 

Having  chosen  his  ground,  Singleton  proceeded  to  his  prepara 
tions  for  the  due  reception  of  Gaskens  and  his  tories.  The  troopers 
and  the  prisoners  were  at  once  dismounted  ;  the  latter,  with  the 
horses,  were  escorted  to  a  sufficient  distance  in  the  wood,  beyond 
the  reach  of  the  strife,  and  where  they  could  convey  no  intimation 
by  their  voices  to  the  approaching  enemy.  Here  a  guard  was  put 
over  them,  with  instructions  to  cut  down  the  first  individual  who 
should  show  the  slightest  symptom  of  a  disposition  to  cry  out  or  to 
fly.  A  command,  otherwise  so  sanguinary,  was  necessary,  however, 
in  the  circumstances.  This  done,  Singleton  despatched  his  scouts, 
headed  by  Humphries,  whose  adroitness  he  well  knew,  on  the  road 
leading  to  the  enemy ;  they  were  to  bring  him  intelligence  without 
suffering  themselves  to  be  seen.  He  next  proceeded  to  his  own 
immediate  disposition  of  force  for  the  hot  controversy,  and  ap 
proved  himself  a  good  disciple  of  the  swamp  fox  in  the  arrange 
ment.  The  ambush  was  formed  on  two  sides  of  the  spring,  the 
men  being  so  placed  as  to  possess  the  advantages  of  the  cross-tire 
without  being  themselves  exposed  to  the  slightest  danger  from  their 
mutual  weapons.  All  approach  to  the  waters  was  thus  commanded, 
and  Singleton,  trusting  to  the  advantages  obtained  from  the  sur 
prise  and  the  first  fire,  instructed  his  men  to  follow  him  in  the 
charge  which  he  contemplated  making,  immediately  after  the  dis 
charge  of  their  pieces.  In  the  way  of  exhortation  he  had  but  few 
words;  he  resembled  Marion  in  that  respect,  also  :  but  those  words 
were  highly  stimulating.  , 

"Men,  I  have  the  utmost  confidence  in  you ;  you  are  no  cowards, 
and  I  am  sure  will  do  your  duty.  I  do  not  call  upon  you  to  de- 


LANCE  TBAMPTON.  878 

itroy  men,  but  monsters  ;  not  countrymen,  but  those  who  have  no 
country — who  have  only  known  their  country  to  rend  her  bowels 
and  prey  upon  her  vitals.  You  will  only  spare  them  when  they 
are  down — when  they  cry,  enough.  There  must  be  no  '  Tarleton's 
quarters,'*  mind  you ;  the  soldier  that  strikes  the  man  who  has 
once  submitted,  shall  be  hung  up  immediately  after ;  'or  though 
they  be  brutes  and  monsters  now,  yet  even  the  brute  has  a  claim 
upon  man's  mercy  when  he  has  once  submitted  to  be  tamed.  Go 
now,  men,  each  to  his  place,  and  wait  the  signal.  I  will  give  it 
at  the  proper  moment  myself.  It  shall  be  but  one  word,  and  when 
you  hear  me  say,  '  Now  !'  let  each  rifle  make  its  mark  upon  an 
armed  tory.  Shoot  none  that  have  not  weapons  in  their  hands — 
remember  that ;  and  when  you  sally  out,  as  you  will  immediately 
after  the  discharge  and  while  they  are  in  confusion,  let  the  same 
rule  be  observed.  Strike  none  that  throw  down  their  arms — none 
that  do  not  offer  us  resistance.  Enough,  now ;  the  brave  soldier 
needs  no  long  exhortation.  The  soldier  who  lights  his  country's 
battles  has  her  voice  at  his  heart,  pleading  for  her  rescue  aad  relief. 
Remember  the  burnt  dwellings  of  your  country — her  murdered  and 
maltreated  inhabitants — her  desolate  fields — her  starving  children 
—  and  then  strike  home!  Your  country  is  worth  fighting  for,  and 
he  who  dies  in  the  cause  of  his  country,  dies  in  the  cause  of  man  : 
he  will  not  be  forgotten.  Go,  and  remember  the  word." 

There  was  no  shout,  no  hurrah  ;  but  eyes  were  bent  upon  the 
ground,  lips  knit  closely  in  solemn  determination ;  and  Singleton 
saw  at  a  glance  that  his  men  were  to  be  relied  on. 

"They  will  do,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  as,  seeing  them  all  pro 
perly  sheltered,  he  threw  himself  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  a  little 
removed  from  the  rest,  and  only  accompanied  by  the  boy,  Lance 
Frampton.  We  have  seen  the  increasing  intimacy  between  the  lad 
and  his  commander ;  an  intimacy  encouraged  by  the  latter,  and 
earnestly  sought  for  by  the  boy.  lie  studiously  kept  near  the  per 
son  of  the  partisan,  listened  to  every  word  lie  uttered,  watched  every 

*  Tarleton   made  himself  feared  and  infamous  by  giviiig  no  quarter- 
Wlien,  accordingly,   the   patriots  obtained  any  successes  in  buttle,  the} 
were  apt  to  answer  the  plea  for  mercy  by  shouting  out — "  Ay,  i  *4lefcon'» 
fuarters,"  wkile  hawing  do^n  the  supplicant 
16* 


874  THE   PARTISAN. 

movement,  and  carefully  analysed,  so  far  as  his  immature  capacities 
would  admit,  every  feeling  and  thought  of  his  superior.  From  this 
earnest  and  close  contemplation  of  the  one  object,  the  boy  grew  to 
be  exclusive  in  his  regards,  and  slighted  every  other.  Singleton  be 
came  one  and  the  same  with  his  mind's  ideal,  and  a  lively  imagina 
tion,  and  warm  sensibilities,  identified  his  captain,  in  his  thought, 
with  his  only  notion  of  a  genuine  hero.  The  more  he  studied  him, 
the  more  complete  was  the  resemblance.  The  lofty,  symmetrical, 
strong  person — the  high  but  easy  carriage — the  grace  of  movement 
and  attitude — the  studious  delicacy  of  speech,  mingled,  at  the  same 
time,  with  that  simple  adherence  to  propriety,  which  illustrates 
genuine  manliness,  were  all  attributes  of  Singleton  and  all  obvious 
enough  to  his  admirer. 

"  How  I  wish  I  was  like  him  !"  said  the  boy  to  himself,  as  he 
looked  where  Singleton's  form  lay  before  him  under  the  tree.  "  If 
I  was  only  sure  that  I  could  fight  like  him,  and  not  feel  afraid, 
when  the  time  comes !  Oh  !  how  I  wish  it  was  over  !" 

Had  the  words  been  uttered  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  the  par 
tisan,  the  mood  of  the  boy  would  have  been  better  understood  by 
his  commander  than  it  was,  when  the  latter  heard  the  deep  sigh 
which  followed  them.  Singleton  turned  to  look  upon  him  as 
he  heard  it,  and  could  not  avoid  being  struck  with  the  manifest  de 
jection  in  every  feature  of  his  countenance.  He  thought  it  might 
arise  from  the  loneliness  of  his  situation,  his  recent  loss  of  a  tender 
mother,  and  the  distressing  condition  of  his  father,  of  whom  they 
had  seen  nothing  since  their  departure  from  the  swamp.  True,  the 
brother  of  Lance  was  along  with  them,  but  there  was  little  sym 
pathy  between  the  two.  The  elder  youth  was  dull  and  unobservant, 
while  the  other  was  thoughtful  and  acute.  They  had  little  inter 
course  beyond  an  occasional  word  of  question  and  reply ;  and  even 
then,  the  intimacy  and  relationship  seemed  imperfect.  These 
things  might,  nay,  must  necessarily  produce  in  the  boy's  mind  a 
sufficient  feeling  of  his  desolation,  and  hence,  in  Singleton's  thought, 
his  depression  seemed  natural  enough.  But  when  the  sigh  was  re 
peated,  and  the  face,  even  un  ler  the  partisan's  glance,  wore  the 
same  expression,  he  could  no  help  addressing  him  on  the  «ib- 


876 

"  Why,  how  now,  Lance — what's  the  matter  ?  Cheer  up,  cheer 
up,  and  get  ready  to  do  something  like  a  man.  Know  you  not 
we're  on  the  eve  of  battle  ?" 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  can't  cheer  up,"  was  the  half-inarticulate  reply,  as  the 
emotion  of  the  boy  visibly  increased,  and  a  tear  was  seen  to  gather 
in  his  eyes.  So  much  emotion  was  unusual  in  one  whose  mood 
was  that  of  elastic  enthusiasm  ;  and  the  pallid  cheek  and  downcast 
look  stimulated  anew  the  anxiety  of  the  partisan.  He  repeated  his 
question  curiously,  and,  at  the  same  time,  rising  from  his  place  of 
rest,  he  came  round  to  where  the  boy  was  standing,  leaning  against 
his  tree. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  boy — what  troubles  you — are  you 
sick  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  sir — no,  sir — I'm  not  sick — I'm  very  well  —but,  sir—" 

"But  what?"  -i-  : 

"  Only,  sir,  I've  never  been  in  a  battle  before — never  to  fight 
with  men,  sir." 

"  Well!    And  what  of  that,  Lance  ?    What  mean  you ?    Speak !" 

The  brow  of  Singleton  darkened  slightly,  as  he  witnessed  the 
seeming  trepidation  of  the  youth.  The  frown,  when  Frampton 
beheld  it,  had  the  natural  effect  of  adding  to  his  confusion. 

"  Oh,  sir,  only  that  I'm  so  afraid " 

"  Afraid,  boy !"  exclaimed  Singleton,  sternly,  interrupting  the 
speaker — "  afraid  !  Then  get  back  to  the  horses — get  away  at 
once  from  sight,  and  let  not  the  men  look  upon  you.  Begone — 
away !' ' 

The  cheek  of  the  boy  glowed  like  crimson,  his  eye  flashed  out  a 
fire-like  indignation,  his  head  was  erect  on  the  instant,  and  his 
whole  figure  rose  with  an  expression  of  pride  and  firmness,  which 
showed  the  partisan  that  he  had  done  him  injustice.  The  change 
was  quite  as  unexpected  as  it  was  pleasant  to  Singleton ;  and  he 
looked  accordingly,  as  he  listened  to  the  reply  of  the  boy,  whose 
speech  was  now  unbroken. 

"No,  sir — you  wrong  me — I'm  not  afraid  of  the  enemy — that'* 
not  it,  sir.  I'm  not  afraid  to  fight,  sir ;  but " 

"  But  what,  Lance — of  what  then  are  you  afraid  ?" 

"  Oh,  air,  I'm  afraid  1  shan't  fight  as  I  want  to  fight.     I'm  afraid, 


876  THE    PARTISAN. 

sir,  I  won't  Lave  the  heart  to  shoot  a  mail,  though  I  know  he  will 
shoot  me  if  he  can.  It's  so  strange,  sir,  to  shoot  at  a  true-and4ru« 
man — so  very  strange,  sir,  that  I'm  afraid  I'll  tremble  when  the 
time  comes,  and  not  shoot  till  it's  too  late." 

"  And  what  then — how  would  you  help  that,  boy  ?  You  must 
make  up  your  mind  to  do  it,  or  keep  out  of  the  way." 

"  Why,  sir,  if  I  could  only  see  you  all  the  time — if  I  could  only 
hear  you  speak  to  me  in  particular,  and  tell  me  by  name  when  to 
shoot,  I  think,  sir,  I  could  do  it  then  well  enough ;  but  to  shoot  at 
a  man  for  the  first  time — I'm  so  afraid  I'd  tremble,  and  wait  too 
long,  unless  you'd  be  so  good  as  to  tell  me  when." 

Singleton  smiled  thoughtfully,  as  he  listened  to  the  confused 
workings  of  a  good  mind,  finding  itself  in  a  novel  position,  ignorant 
of  the  true  standard  for  its  guidance,  and  referring  to  another  on 
which  it  was  most,  accustomed,  or  a,t  least  most  willing,  to  depend. 
The  boy  laboured  under  one  of  those  doubts  which  so  commonly 
beset  and  annoy  the  ambitious  nature,  solicitous  of  doing  greatly, 
with  an  ideal  of  achievement  drawn  before  the  sight  by  the  imagi 
nation,  and  making  a  picture  too  imposing  for  its  own  quiet  con 
templation.  He  was  troubled,  as  even  the  highest  courage  and 
boldest  genius  will  sometimes  become,  with  enfeebling  doubts  of 
his  own  capacity  even  to  do  tolerably,  what  he  desires  to  do  well. 
He  trembled  to  believe  that  he  should  fall  short  of  that  measure  of 
achievement  which  his  mind  had  made  his  standard,  and  at  which 
he  aimed. 

Fortunately  for  him,  Singleton  was  sufficiently  aware  of  the 
distinction  between  doubts  and  misgivings  so  honorable  and  so 
natural,  and  those  which  spring  from  imbecile  purpose  and  a 
deficient  and  shrinking  spirit.  He  spoke  to  the  boy  kindly,  assured 
him  of  his  confidence,  encouraged  him  to  a  better  reliance  upon 
his  own  powers ;  and,  knowing  well  that  nothing  so  soon  brings 
out  the  naturally  sturdy  spirit  as  the  quantity  of  pressure  and 
provocation  upon  it,  he  rather  strove  to  impress  upon  him  a  higher 
notion  than  ever  of  the  severity  and  trial  of  the  conflict  now  before 
him.  In  proportion  to  the  quantity  of  labour  required  at  his  hands, 
did  his  spirit  rise  to  overcome  it;  and  Singleton,  after  a  few 
moments'  conversation  with  him,  bad  the  satisfaction  to  «ee  uU 


IN  POSIT  jo  jr.  3V  7 

countenance  brighten  up,  while  his  eye  flashed  enthusiasm,  and  nis 
soul  grew  earnest  for  the  strife. 

"  You  shall  have  the  place  under  my  own  eye :  and  mark  me, 
Lance,  that  eye  will  be  upon  you.  I  will  give  you  a  distinct  duty 
to  perform,  and  trust  that  it  shall  be  done  well." 

"  I'll  try,  sir,1'  was  the  modest  answer,  though  his  doubts  of  hia 
own  capacity  were  sensibly  decreasing.  The  time  was  at  hand, 
however,  which  was  to  bring  his  courage  into  exercise  and  trial, 
and  to  put  to  the  test  that  strength  of  mind  which  he  had  been 
himself  disposed  to  underrate.  One  of  the  scouts  charged  with 
the  intelligence  by  Humphries  now  came  in,  bringing  tidings  of 
the  tories.  They  were  computed  to  amount  to  eighty  men ;  but 
of  this  the  scouts  could  not  be  certain,  as,  in  obedience  to  the 
orders  of  his  commander,  Humphries  had  not  ventured  so  nigh 
as  to  expose  himself  to  discovery.  He  computed  the  prisoners 
m  their  charge,  men,  women,  and  children,  to  be  quite  as  nume 
rous. 

Singleton,  on  the  receipt  of  this  intelligence,  looked  closely  to 
the  preparations  which  he  had  made  for  their  reception,  saw  that 
his  men  were  all  in  their  places,  and  went  the  rounds,  addressing 
them  individually  in  encouragement  and  exhortation.  This  done, 
he  took  the  young  beginner,  Lance  Frampton,  aside,  and  leading 
him  to  the  shelter  of  a  thick  bush  at  the  head  of  the  little  hillock, 
he  bade  him  keep  that  position  in  which  he  placed  him,  throughout 
all  the  events  of  the  contest.  This  position  commanded  a  view  of 
the  whole  scene  likely  to  be  the  theatre  of  conflict.  The  partisan 
bade  him  survey  it  closely. 

"There  is  the  spring,  Lance — there — in  short  rifle  distance. 
How  far  do  you  call  it!" 

"  Thirty  yards,  sir." 

"  Are  you  a  sure  shot  at  that  distance  fn 

"Dead  sure,  sir;"  and  he  raised  the  rifle  to  hia  eye,  which  Sin 
gleton  handed  him. 

"  Your  hand  trembles,  boy." 

M  Yes,  sir ;  but  I'm  not  afraid  ;  I'm  only  anxious  to  begin." 

"  Keep  cool ;  there's  no  hurry,  but  time,  enough.  Throw  off 
your  jacket — give  me  your  rifle.  Thore — now  roll  up  your  sleev«» 


878  THE   PARTISAN. 

and  go  down  to  the  spring — plunge  your  arms  up  to  their  pits  into 
the  cool  water  a  dozen  times,  until  I  call  you.     Go." 

The  boy  went ;  and  before  he  returned,  Humphries  rode  in  with 
accounts  of  the  near  approach  of  Gaskens  and  his  tories.  Singleton 
called  up  his  pupil  from  the  spring,  and  continued  his  directions. 

"  Take  your  place  here,  by  the  end  of  the  log  ;  don't  rniud  your 
jacket — better  off  than  on.  Our  men,  you  see,  are  ranged  on  either 
side  of  you.  They  can  see  you  as  easily  as  you  can  see  them." 

This  sentence  was  emphatically  uttered,  while  the  piercing  glance 
of  Singleton  was  riveted  upon  the  now  unfaltering  countenance  of 
the  boy. 

"  Below  you  is  the  spring,  and  in  that  shade  the  tories  will  most 
probably  come  to  a  halt.  They  will  scarcely  put  their  prisoners 
under  cover,  for  fear  they  should  escape ;  and  they  will  be  likely 
to  remain  at  the  opening  there  to  your  left — there,  just  by  those 
tallow  bushes.  Now,  observe :  I  am  about  to  trust  to  you  to  com 
mence  the  affair.  Upon  you,  and  your  rifle  shot,  I  depend  greatly. 
Don't  raise  it  yet :  let  it  rest  in  the  hollow  of  your  arm  until  you 
are  ready  to  pull  trigger,  which  you  will  do  the  moment  you  hear 
me  say,  '  Now  !'  I  will  not  be  far  from  you,  and  will  say  it  sufti 
ciently  loud  for  you  to  hear.  The  moment  you  hear  me,  lift  youi 
piece,  and  be  sure  to  shoot  the  man,  whoever  he  may  be,  that  may 
happen  to  stand  upon  the  rise  of  the  hill,  just  above  the  spring,  and 
under  the  great  oak  that  hangs  over  it.  It  is  most  probable  that 
it  will  be  Gaskens  himself,  the  captain  of  the  tories.  But  no 
matter  who  he  is,  shoot  him  :  aim  for  the  man  that  stands  on  the 
hillock,  and  you  must  hit  an  enemy.  You  will  have  but  a  single 
tire,  as  our  men  will  follow  your  lead,  and  in  the  next  moment  we 
shall  charge.  When  you  see  us  do  so,  slip  round  by  the  tallow 
bushes,  and  cut  loose  the  ropes  that  tie  the  prisoners.  These  are 
your  duties ;  and  remember,  boy,  I  shall  see  all  your  movements. 
1  shall  look  to  you,  and  you  only,  until  the  affair  commences.  Be 
in  no  hurry,  but  keep  cool:  wait  for  the  word,  and  don't  even  lift 
your  rifle  until  you  hear  me  give  the  signal.  Remember,  you  have 
a  duty  to  perform  to  yourself  and  country,  in  whose  cause  your 
life  to-day  begins. ' 

The  boy  put  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  bowed  his  head,  and  mad« 


BEADY.  879 

no  other  reply  ;  but  his  eye  glistened  with  pride ;  and  as  the 
partisan  moved  away,  he  grasped  his  rifle,  threw  his  right  foot 
back  a  pace,  as  if  to  feel  his  position,  then,  sinking  quietly  behind 
the  bush,  prepared  himself  as  firmly  for  the  contest  as  if  he  had 
been  a  veteran 


CHAPTER   XXX? 

•'  And  war  shn!!  have  its  victims,  ami  grim  d»«tb 
Grow  surfeit  with  his  prey.     The  signal  loou, 
That  marks  the   feast  prepared,  their  eart  shall  Dot* 
A  sound  of  terror — and  the  banquet  spread, 
Shall  call  the  anxious  appetite  that  seen 
And  gloats  upon  its  garbage  from  afar." 

SILENCE  and  a  deep  anxiety  hung  like  a  spell  above  the  ambus 
cading  party.  The  woods  lay  at  rest,  and  the  waters  of  the 
fountain  trickled  quietly,  as  if  Peace  lay  sleeping  in  their  neigh 
bourhood,  and  Security  watched  over  her.  So  well  had  Singleton 
made  his  arrangements,  and  so  cautiously  had  his  plans  been  exe 
cuted,  that  no  necessity  existed  for  bustle  or  confusion.  Each 
trooper  had  his  duty  as  carefully  assigned  him  as  the  boy  Framp- 
ton  ;  and  all  of  them,  taking  direction  from  their  gallant  leader, 
lay  still  in  the  close  shadow  of  the  thicket,  silent  as  the  grave,  and 
>nly  awaiting  the  signal  which  was  to  fill  its  unfolding  jaws. 

They  waited  not  long  befcre  the  advance  of  the  tories  appeared 
in  sight ;  then  came  the  prisoners — a  melancholy  troop — men, 
women  and  children ;  and  then  the  main  body  of  the  marauders, 
under  Gaskens,  bringing  up  the  rear.  In  all,  there  was  probably 
over  a  hundred  persons ;  an  oddly  assorted  and  most  miscellaneous 
collection,  with  nothing  uniform  in  their  equipment.  They  were 
not  British,  but  tories ;  though  here  and  there  the  gaudy  red  coat, 
probably  a  tribute  of  the  battle  field,  was  ostentatiously  worn  by  an 
individual,  upon  whom,  no  doubt,  it  con 'erred  its  own  character, 
and  some  of  that  authority  which  certainly  would  have  been  pos 
sessed  by  its  owner  were  he  a  Briton.  The  present  troop  of  banditti 
— for,  as  yet,  they  could  be  styled  by  no  other  more  proper  epithet 
— was  one  of  the  many  bv  which  the  country  was  overrun  in  every 
direction.  Banding  together  in  small  squads,  the  dissolute  and  ths 
pricked  among  the  native  and  foreign  thus  availed  themselves  of  th« 


TOBY   DESPERADOES.  383 

distractions  of  the  war  to  revenge  themselves  upon  old  enemies, 
destroy  the  property  they  could  not  appropriate,  and,  with  tkft 
sword  and  the  rope,  punish  the  more  honest,  or  the  more  quiet, 
for  that  pacific  forbearance  which  they  themselves  were  so  little  dis 
posed  to  manifest. 

in  every  section  of  the  province  these  squads  were  continually 
forming.  In  one  night,  ten,  twenty,  thirty,  or  more,  would  collect 
together,  and  by  a  sudden  and  impetuous  movement,  anticipating 
all  preparations,  would  rush  with  fire  and  sword  upon  their  whig 
neighbours,  whose  first  knowledge  of  the  incursion  would  be  the 
brand  in  the  blazing  barn,  or  the  bullet  driven  through  the  crash 
ing  pane.  They  shot  down,  in  this  manner,  even  as  he  sat  with 
his  little  circle  at  the  family  fireside,  the  stout  yeoman  who  might 
have  defended  or  avenged  them.  The  arm  of  the  law  was  staid  by 
invasion,  and  the  sanction  of  the  invaders  was  necessarily  given, 
under  all  circumstances,  to  the  party  which  claimed  to  fight  in 
their  behalf.  The  tory  became  the  British  ally,  and  the  whig  his 
victim  accordingly ;  and  to  such  a  degree  were  the  atrocities  of 
these  wretches  carried,  that  men  were  dragged  from  the  arms  of 
their  wives  at  midnight,  and  suffered  for  their  love  of  country  in 
the  sight  of  wife  and  children,  by  dying  in  the  rope,  and  from  their 
own  roof  trees. 

Of  this  character  was  the  body  of  tories,  under  Amos  Gaskens,  now 
rapidly  approaching  the  place  of  ambush.  They  had  formed  them 
selves  on  the  Williamsburgh  line,  chiefly  the  desperadoes  and  outcasts 
from  that  quarter,  and  had  chosen  among  themselves  an  appropriate 
leader  in  Gaskens,  of  whom  we  are  told  by  the  historian,  that  even 
before  the  war  he  had  been  notorious  for  his  petty  larcenies.  From 
this  quarter  they  had  passed  into  St.  Johns,  Berkley,  marking  their 
progress  everywhere  with  havoc,  and  stopping  at  no  atrocity.  Such 
employment  was  not  less  grateful  to  themselves  than  to  their  new 
masters,  to  whom  they  thought  it  likely,  and  indeed  knew,  that  it 
must  commend  th'em.  Gaskens  aimed  more  highly,  indeed,  than 
his  neighbours.  He  had  already  been  honoured  with  a  British 
captaincy — he  desired  a  still  loftier  commission  ;  and  the  reckless 
ness  of  his  deeds  was  intended  still  further  to  approve  him  in  the 
sight  of  those  from  whom  he  hoped  to  receive  it  If  the  atrocitiei 


THE   PARTISAN. 

of  Taileton  resulted  in  his  promotion  and  hoi. our,  why  not  liki 
atrocities  in  Amos  Gaskens  ?     Reason  might  well  ask,  why  not 
sinc.e,  in  cruelty,  they  were  fair  parallels  for  one  another. 

The  prisoners  brought  with  Gaskens  were  chiefly  taken  from  th« 
parish  of  St.  Johns,  Berkley.  One  family,  consisting  of  a  man 
named  Griffin,  his  wife,  and  daughter,  a  tall,  good  looking  girl, 
about  seventeen,  were  closely  watched,  apart  from  the  rest  of  the 
captives,  by  a  guard  especially  assigned  for  this  purpose.  The  tak 
ing  of  this  man  had  cost  the  tory  two  of  his  best  soldiers,  and  he 
had  himself  been  wounded  in  the  arm  by  a  stroke  from  Griffin's 
sabre.  Griffin  had  fought  desperately  against  his  captors ;  and  an 
old  grudge  between  himself  and  Gaskens  had  stimulated  them  both, 
the  one  to  desire  his  capture,  the  other  to  resist,  even  unto  death, 
the  effort  of  his  enemy.  The  result,  so  far,  has  been  shown. 
Griffin  tried  to  escape  at  the  approach  of  the  tory,  but  the  back 
track  to  the  neighbouring  swamp  had  been  intercepted  by  Gaskens, 
who  knew  the  route,  and  three  of  his  men  who  went  there  in  ad 
vance  to  watch  it ;  while  the  main  body  of  the  troop  pressed  for 
ward  to  the  cottage.  It  was  there  that  the  flying  man  encountered 
them,  and  the  fight  was  desparately  waged  before  they  conquered 
him.  This  did  not  happen  until,  as  we  have  said,  two  of  his  das 
tardly  assailants  had  fallen  beneath  his  good  sword  and  vigorous 
arm.  He  pressed  Gaskens  himself  backward,  and  would  have  pro 
bably  slain  him  and  escaped,  but  for  the  aid  of  other  tories  coming 
on  him  from  behind. 

Though  not  seriously  wounded  in  the  fray,  Griffin  had  been 
much  chopped  and  mangled.  A  large  seam  appeared  upon  hia 
thigh,  and  there  were  two  slight  gashes  over  his  cheek,  not  so  deep 
as  ugly.  Conquered  at  last,  his  ^ands  were  bound,  and,  with  his 
family,  he  was  made  to  attend  his  captors  on  foot.  The  manly  re 
sistance  which  he  had  offered  to  his  enemy,  instead  of  securing  him 
respect,  exposed  him  only  to  the  most  torturing  irritations  in  his 
progress  with  them.  Before  his  eyes,  they  hurled  the  brand  into 
hia  little  cottage,  and  he  saw  the  fierce  flames  in  full  mastery  over 
his  little  homestead,  long  before  they  had  left  the  enclosure.  In 
spite  of  his  wounds  and  injuries,  the  sturdy  fellow  maintained  a 
itout  heart,  and  showed  no  sign  of  despondency  ;  but  bearing 


ASTIPATHY.  883 

himself  as  boldly  as  if  he  were  not  the  victim  but  the  vioor,  he  de 
fied  the  base  spirit  of  his  conqueror,  and  with  an  eye  that  spoke  all 
the  feeling  of  the  fiercest  hatred,  he  looked  the  defiance  which,  at 
that  time,  he  had  no  better  mode  of  manifesting. 

Nor  was  the  feeling  of  Gaskens  towards  his  prisoner  a  jot  less 
malignantly  hostile  than  that  of  Griffin.  There  was  an  old  grudge 
between  them — such  a  grudge  as  is  common  to  the  strifes  of  a 
wild  and  but  partially  settled  neighbourhood.  They  had  been 
neighbours — that  is  to  say,  they  dwelt  on  contiguous  plantations  — 
but  never  friends.  For  many  years  they  lived  in  the  same  district, 
seeing  each  other  frequently,  but  without  intercourse.  This  was 
entirely  owing  to  Griffin,  who  disliked  Gaskens,  and  studiously 
withheld  himself  from  all  intimacy  with  him.  Griffin  was  an 
industrious  farmer — Gaskens  the  overseer  for  the  Postell  estate. 
Griffin  was  a  sober,  quiet  man,  who  had  been  long  married,  and 
found  his  chief  enjoyment  in  the  bosom  of  his  family.  Gaskeus 
loved  the  race-turf  and  the  cockpit,  and  his  soul  was  full  of  theii 
associations.  It  is  the  instinct  of  vice  to  hate  the  form  of  virtue,  or 
that  habit  which  so  nearly  resembles  her,  as  to  desire  no  exciting 
indulgences,  no  forced  stimulants,  no  unwonted  and  equivocal 
enjoyments.  Griffin  sought  for  none  of  those  pleasures  which  were 
all-in-all  to  Gaskens,  and  the  other  hated  him  accordingly. 

But  there  were  yet  other  causes  for  this  hostility,  in  the  positive 
rejection  of  his  proffered  intimacy,  which  Griffin  had  unscrupulously 
given.  Though  but  a  small  farmer,  with  means  exceedingly  mod 
erate,  the  sense  of  self-respect,  which  industry  brought  with  it  to  his 
mind,  taught  him  to  scorn  and  to  avoid  the  base  outrider,  and  the 
dishonest  overseer  of  the  neighbouring  plantation.  Words  of  strife, 
more  than  once,  had  fallen  between  them,  but  not  with  any  serious 
rupture  following.  Gaskens,  finally,  removed  to  another  plantation 
somewhat  further  off,  and  all  acquaintance  ceased  between  them. 
There  he  pursued  his  old  courses ;  and  at  length,  left  without 
employ,  as  he  had  lost  the  confidence  of  all  those  whom  he  had 
•erved  heretofore  in  his  capacity  of  overseer,  he  had  become  th« 
regular  attendant  of  the  tavern. 

The  arrival  of  the  British  forces,  the  siege  and  the  surrender  of 
Charleston,  with  the  invasion  of  the  state  by  foreign  mercenaries, 


884  THE   PARTISAN 

presented  him  with  a  new  field  for  action ;  and,  with  thousands  of 
others,  to  whom  all  considerations  were  as  nothing,  weighed  against 
the  love  of  low  indulgence,  unrestrained  power,  and  a  profligate 
lust  for  plunder,  he  did  not  scruple  to  adopt  the  cause  which  was 
strongest,  and  most  likely  to  procure  him  those  objects  for  which 
his  appetite  most  craved.  He  became  a  furious  loyalist,  mustered 
his  party,  and  became  the  assessor  of  his  neighbours'  estates.  The 
fortune  which  threw  into  his  hands  the  person  of  Griffin  revived 
the  old  grudge ;  and  the  stout  defence  malle  by  his  prisoner,  deter 
mined  him  upon  a  measure  but  too  often  adopted  in  that  saturnalia 
of  crime,  the  tory  warfare  in  Carolina,  to  excite  much  attention  or 
provoke  many  scruples  in  the  party  employing  it.  With  a  spiteful 
malignity  which  belongs  to  the  vulgar  mind,  he  had  ridden  along 
by  the  side  of  his  captive ;  and  finding,  as  he  rode,  that  the  pres 
ence  of  his  wife  and  daughter  was  a  consolation  still,  he  ordered 
them  to  the  rear  with  the  other  prisoners,  not  permitting  them  to 
approach,  or  even  to  speak  with  him.  As  thus  he  rode  he  taunted 
his  captive  with  low  remark  and  insolent  sneer  at  his  present  for 
tune,  compared  with  his  own,  and  with  the  past.  The  wounded 
man,  with  his  hands  tied  behind  him,  could  only  demonstrate  his 
scorn  by  an  occasional  sentence  from  his  lips,  while  his  eye,  gleam 
ing  with  the  collected  vengeance  of  his  heart,  spoke  well  what  the 
other  might  expect,  were  they  only  permitted  a  fair  field  and  equal 
footing  for  contest.  It  was  when  they  had  reached  the  immediate 
precincts  of  the  spring,  that  the  intercourse  between  them  had 
reached  the  extremest  point  of  savage  malignity  on  the  one  hand, 
and  fierce  defiance  on  the  other. 

"  Yes,  you  d — d  rebel,"  continued  Gaskens,  "  you  see  what's  come 
of  your  obstinacy  and  insolence.  You  fly  in  the  face  of  the  king 
and  refuse  to  obey  his  laws  ;  and  now  you  have  your  pay.  By 
G — d,  but  it  does  my  heart  good  to  see  you  in  this  pickle." 

"  Coward  !  if  I  could  lay  hands  on  you  but  for  two  minutes — 
only  two  minutes,  Amos  Gaskens — and  by  the  Eternal,  chopped 
up  as  I  am,  you  should  never  have  it  in  your  power  to  say  again 
to  an  honest  man  what  you  have  said  to  me." 

"  Two  minutes,  do  vou  say  ?"  said  the  other — "  two  minutes  ? 
You  shall  have  two  minutes,  Griffin — two  minutes,  as  you  ask ;  bat 


TWO   MINUTES.  -885 

they  shall  be  for  prayer,  and  not  fur  fighting.  I  remember  you  of 
old — I  have  forgotten  nothing — and  you  shall  pay  oft'  to-day  a 
.ong  score  that's  been  running  up  against  you.  You  remember 
when  I  was  overseer  to  John  1'ostell,  and  you  gave  me  to  know 
you  didn't  want  to  see  me  at  your  house,  though  that  was  a  log- 
house  like  my  own  ?  I  wasn't  good  enough  for  you,  nor  for  yours, 
eh  ?  What  do  you  say  now  2" 

"The  same.  I  hold  you  worse  now  than  I  did  then.  And  then 
I  didn't  despise  you  because  you  were  poor,  for,  as  you  say,  1  was 
poor  myself;  but  because  I  thought  you  a  rascal,  and  since  then  1 
know'd  it.  You  are  worse  now." 

"Talk  on — I  give  you  leave  to  talk,  you  d — d  rebel — and  that's 
a  mercy  you  don't  deserve ;  but  I  have  you  in  ray  power,  and  it 
won't  be  long  you'll  have  to  talk.  I  wonder  what  your  pride 
comes  to  now,  when  I,  Amos  Gaskens,  who  wasn't  good  enough 
for  you  and  your  {laughter,  have  only  to  say  the  word,  and  it's  all 
dicky  with  both  of  you.  You  yourself — you  can't  stir  a  hand  but 
at  my  orders ;  and  look  there — that's  your  wife  and  daughter — 
and  what  can  you  do  for  'em,  if  I  only  gives  the  word  to  the  boys 
to  do  their  likes  to  them  ?" 

"  Oh  !  villain  !  oh  !  monster !  If  I  only  had  my  arms  free  and 
a  we'pon  in  my  hand !"  cried  the  prisoner,  vainly  struggling  with 
his  bonds.  But  he  writhed  in  them  in  vain.  The  tyrant  looked 
down  upon  him  from  his  horse  with  a  grin  of  delight  which  com 
pleted  the  fury  of  the  victim,  until  he  rushed,  though  with  a  fruit 
less  vengeance,  against  the  sides  of  the  animal,  idly  expending  his 
strength  in  an  innoxious  and  purposeless  effort  against  his  persecu 
tor.  A  blow  from  the  hilt  of  his  sabre  drove  him  back,  while,  as 
he  reeled  among  the  troop,  a  shriek  from  the  wife  and  daughter  in 
the  rear,  at  the  same  moment,  announced  their  consciousness  of 
the  whole  proceeding. 

"Two  minutes  you  shall  have,  ray  boy — two  minutes,  as  you 
asked  for  them,"  said  Gaskens  to  the  prisoner,  as  they  now  ap 
proached  the  spring. 

"Two  minutes — for  what?"  h«  inquired. 

"  For  prayer — and  quite  long  enough  for  one  that's  passed  so 
good  a  life  as  you,"  was  the  sneering  reply. 


386  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  was  the  farther  inquiry  of  the  prisoner 

Gaskens  pointed  to  the  huge  oak  that  surmounted  the  spring, 
and  at  the  same  moment  a  corporal  approached  with  a  rope,  the 
running  noose  of  which — as  this  agent  was  frequently  in  requisition 
— was  already  made,  and  now  swung  ostentatiously  in  his  hands. 

"  Great  God  !  Amos  Gaskeus,  wretch  as  you  are,  you  do  not 
mean  to  murder  me  ?" 

"  May  I  be  totally  d — d  if  I  do  not.  You  shall  hang  to  that 
tree  in  two  minutes  after  I  say  the  word,  or  there  are  no  snakes." 

"  You  dare  not,  ruffian.  I  claim  to  be  a  prisoner  of  war — I  ap 
peal  to  the  troop." 

"Appeal  and  be  d — d.  My  troop  know  better  than  to  disobey 
the  orders  of  a  lawful  officer  in  commission  of  his  majesty ;  and  as 
for  your  being  a  prisoner  of  war,  that's  a  lie.  You  are  a  murderer, 
and  I  have  proof  enough  of  it.  But  that's  neither  here  nor  there. 
I  will  answer  for  all  I  have  done  to  the  commander  of  the  Dor 
chester  post,  and  if  you  can  make  him  hear  your  voice  at  this  dis 
tance,  you  have  a  better  pipe  than  my  rope  has  touched  yet — 
that's  all.  So,  to  your  prayers,  while  I  lake  a  sup  of  this  water. 
Here,  boy,  hold  the  bridle." 

The  wretch  descended,  and  the  boy  reined  up  the  steed,  while 
Gaskens  strode  onward  to  the  spring.  The  corporal  approached 
the  doomed  victim,  and  was  about  to  pass  the  loop  over  his  head  • 
but  he  resisted  by  every  effort  in  his  power. 

"  Great  God  ! — but  this  is  not  in  earnest  ?  Hear  me,  Amos 
Gaskens — hear  me,  man  !  Monster !  are  you  not  ashamed  to  sport 
in  this  way  with  the  feelings  of  my  poor  wife  and  child  ?" 

Gaskens  looked  round  contemptuously,  but  still  strode  onward, 
as  he  replied — "  Do  your  duty,  corporal,  or  blast  me  but  I  run  you 
up,  though  I  have  to  do  it  myself.  You  shall  know,  Wat  Griffin, 
whether  1  am  not  good  enough  for  your  d — d  log-cabin  now,  or  not. 
Two  minutes,  corporal — only  two  minutes,  and  a  short  cord — re 
member — two  minutes,  I  say — no  more." 

With  the  assistance  of  two  of  the  tory  squad,  Griffin  was  thrown 
upon  his  back,  and  lay  struggling  upon  the  ground,  while  the  rope 
was  adjusted  to  his  neck. 

"  My  wife  1  my  child ! — let  them  corue  to  me,  Amos  Gaskens — 


THE   DOOM.  387 

let  them  see  mo,  Gaskens — man  or  devil !  Will  you  not  suffe* 
them  to  come  to  me  ? — let  me  see  and  speak  to  them,  I  pray 
you !" 

"They  will  see  you  better  when  you  are  lifted  up  !  Be  quick — • 
say  your  prayers,  man,  and  lose  no  time.  One  minute  is  almost 
gone  already.  Make  the  most  of  the  other." 

The  ruffian  spoke  with  the  coolest  indifference,  while  mixing  a 
gourd  of  spirits  and  water  at  the  spring.  This  done,  he  ascended 
the  hill,  bearing  the  liquor  in  his  hand,  and  bade  the  execution 
proceed.  They  hauled  the  victim  by  the  rope  up  the  little  rising, 
and  towards  the  tree,  almost  strangling  him  before  he  reached  the 
spot.  In  the  meanwhile  the  air  was  rent  with  the  shrieks  of  his 
wife  and  daughter  in  the  rear,  who  were  pressed  back  with  the 
other  prisoners,  the  guard  keeping  them  back  from  any  approach 
to  the  doomed  man,  then  about  to  be  separated  from  them  for 
ever.  He  cried  to  them  by  name,  in  a  thick,  choking  voice,  for 
the  rope  was  now  drawn,  by  the  party  hauling  him  along,  with  a 
suffocating  tightness. 

"  Ellen  ! — Ellen,  my  wife !  Oh,  Ellen,  my  poor  child !  Amos 
Gaskens — God  remember  you  for  this  !  Oh,  Ellen  !  God  help 
me  !  Have  you  no  mercy,  monster — none  ?"  He  screamed  to  his 
murderer,  in  agony — and  in  vain  ! 

"  Father,  dear  father  !"  cried  the  girl. 

The  mother  had  simply  stretched  forth  her  hands  as  she  beheld 
the  threatened  movement,  and,  overpowered  by  her  emotions,  had 
fallen  senseless  in  the  effort  to  speak.  The  daughter  strove  to  rush 
forward,  but  the  strong-armed  sentinel  rudely  thrust  her  back  with 
H  heavy  hand,  and  pressed  her  down  with  the  rest  of  the  prisoners, 
who  had  been  made  to  file  into  the  grove  of  tallow  bushes,  which 
the  prescience  of  Singleton  had  already  assigned  them. 

Gasping,  but  struggling  to  the  last,  the  victim  had  lfcen  already 
drawn  up  by  his  executioner  within  a  few  feet  of  the  broad  limb 
stretching  over  the  spring,  which  was  to  serve  the  purpose  of  a 
gallows;  and  the  brutal  leader  of  the  party,' standing  upon  the 
little  eminence  —the  liquor  in  hand,  which  he  was  stirring,  yet  un- 
tasted — had  already  declared  the  time  to  be  elapsed  which  he 
allowed  to  the  prisoner  f  >r  the  purposes  of  prayer,  when,  distinctly 


388  THE    PARTISAN 

and  clear,  the  voice  of  Singleton  was  heard — above  the  shrieks  of 
the  daughter — above  the  hoarse  cries  of  the  prisoner  in  parting  to 
his  wife — above  all  the  bustle  of  the  transaction.  The  single  word, 
as  given  to  the  boy  Frampton,  was  uttered  ;  and,  in  the  next 
instant,  came  the  sharp,  thrilling  crack  of  the  rifle,  fatally  aimed, 
and  striking  the  legitimate  victim.  The  body  of  (iaskens,  between 
whose  eyos  the  bullet  had  passed — the  word  unspoken — the  draught 
in  his  hand  untasted — tumbled  forward,  prostrate,  immovable, 
upon  the  form  of  his  reprieved  victim,  whom — still  struggling,  but 
half  strangled — the  corporal  had  just  diagged  beneath  the  fatal 
tree. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

'  Too  long  a  laggard,  he  hath  stood, 
Until  the  hearth  w  »«  drenched  in  blood, 

Until  the  tyrant  grevr 
All  reckless,  in  his  bloody  game; 
The  cities  proud,  he  wrapped  in  flame, 

Their  brave  defenders  slew." 

THE  young  partisan,  Frampton,  to  whom  Singleton  had  intrusted 
BO  leading  a  part  in  the  enterprise,  had  well  fulfilled  the  duty 
assigned  him.  He  put  himself  in  readiness  with  the  first  appear 
ance  of  the  marauders;  and,  with  a  heart  throbbing  with  anxiety 
all  the  while,  witnessed  impatiently  the  progress  of  the  preceding 
scene,  until  broken  by  the  emphatic  utterance  of  the  signal,  and 
his  own  prompt  obedience  to  its  dictates.  Then,  with  an  instinct, 
which  in  that  moment  silenced  and  stilled  the  quick  pulsations,  of 
his  breast,  he  raised  the  deadly  weapon  to  his  shoulder ;  and,  with 
a  determined  coolness  that  arose,  as  it  were,  from  a  desire  to  con 
vince  himself,  not  less  than  his  commander,  that  he  could  be  firm, 
he  twice  varied  his  aim,  until  perfectly  assured,  when  he  drew  the 
trigger,  and  most  opportunely  singled  out  a  different  victim  from 
the  one  whom  Gaskens  had  contemplated  for  the  fatal  sisters,  in 
the  person  of  that  foul  murderer  himself. 

There  was  a  moment  of  dreadful  pause  after  this  event.  The 
rope  fell  from  the  hands  of  the  executioner,  and  his  eyes,  and  the 
eyes  of  all,  were  turned  in  doubt  and  astonishment  upon  the  quar 
ter  from  whence  the  deadly  missile  had  proceeded.  The  condemned 
man  seized  the  opportunity  to  throw  from  his  body  the  lifeless 
carcase  of  the  slain  tory;  and  not  doubting  that  further  aid  was  at 
hand,  and  looking  for  a  closer  straggle  between  the  parties,  in 
which  his  condition  did  not  suffer  him  to  hope  to  share,  he  crawled 
along  the  hill  for  shelter  to  the  neighbouring  tree.  His  effort  was 
interrupted ;  for,  in  the  next  moment,  another  and  another  shot 
17 


390  THTC    FARTISAX.   ' 

selected  their  victims  ;  then  came  the  full  volley;  and  then  the 
loud  voice  of  Singleton,  as,  plunging  through  the  copse,  he  led  the 
way  for  his  men,  who  charged  the  contused  and  terrified  lories  on 
every  side.  They  scarcely  showed  sign  of  fight.  One  or  two 
jftered  resistance  boldly,  and  with  as  much  skill  as  resolution ;  but 
they  were  soon  overpowered,  as  they  received  no  support  from  their 
comrades,  who  were  now  scampering  in  the  bushes  in  every  direc 
tion.  The  surprise  had  been  complete ;  not  a  man  was  seriously 
hurt  among  the  whigs,  while  every  rifle,  fired  in  the  first  of  the 
fray,  had  told  fatally  upon  its  victim.  Seven  were  slain  outright,  a 
few  more  sabred,  and  some  few  were  made  prisoners — the  rest  took 
the  back  track  into  the  woods,  and  though  pursued,  contrived,  with 
few  exceptions,  to  make  their  escape. 

The  boy,  Lance,  meanwhile,  had  well  performed  the  other  duty 
which  had  been  given  to  his  charge.  The  conflict,  pellmell,  hac* 
scarcely  begun,  when,  slipping  noiselessly  round  to  the  hollow 
where  the  prisoners  were  confined,  so  as  not  to  arouse  the  notice 
of  the  two  sentinels  having  them  in  custody — and  whose  eyes  were 
now  turned  in  surprise  upon  the  unlooked-for  contest — he  cut  the 
cords  which  bound  them  ;  and,  prompt  as  himself,  they  were  no 
sooner  free,  than  they  seized  upon  their  guards  and  disarmed  them. 
The  ropes  were  transferred  to  other  hands  than  their  own.  This 
was  all  the  work  of  an  instant ;  so,  indeed,  was  the  affray  itself ; 
and  the  first  object  that  met  the  eyes  of  Singleton  as  he  returned 
from  the  charge  to  the  spot  where  it  first  began,  was  the  person  of 
the  boy,  Lance,  bending  over  the  man  he  had  shot,  and  curiously 
inspecting  the  bullet-hole  which  he  had  made  through  and  through 
his  forehead. 

"  Ha,  Lance  S"  said  Singleton  ;  "  you  have  done  well — you  have 
behaved  like  a  man." 

Lance  Frampton  looked  the  picture  of  the  personification  in  the 
ode  of  Collins,  where  Fear 

"  —  recoils,  he  knows  not  why, 
Even  at  the  sound  (wound)  himself  hath  made." 

M  What  Jo  you  wonder  at,  Lance  ? "  demanded  Singleton. 

sir,  I  can  scarcely  beliov^  that  this  was  the  same  man" — 


R1QRET.  391 

pointing  to  the  body — "  who  was  swearing  so  dreadfully  but  a 
minute  ago;  and  it  was  my  rifle  that  made  this  awful  bullet- 
hole  !" 

"  A  good  shot,  Lance,  and  at  the  right  moment !" 

"  Ah  !  sir,  but  how  terrible  to  think !  He  was  swearing  dread 
fully  at  the  very  moment  when  I  pulled  trigger,  and  it  was  my  hand 
that  stopped  his  mouth,  full  as  it  was  of  curses ;  and  he's  gone — 
gone  where  ?  Oh  !  sir,  I  do  feel  so  strange  !" 

"  The  thought  is  a  sincere  and  solemn  one,  Lance,  that  of  send 
ing  a  fellow  creature  to  judgment,  while  his  mouth  is  full  of  curses ! 
But  how  else  could  we  have  saved  his  worthier  victims — the  poor 
captives — the  wretched  father  whom  he  was  about  to  hurry  out  of 
life  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  that's  true ;  and  how  fearful  I  was  lest  you  wouldn't 
say  the  word  '  now'  soon  enough  to  let  me  save  him.  Oh !  I  felt 
BO  eager  to  shoot;  but  I'm  afraid  it  was  a  wrong  feeling.  It  makes 
me  feel  very  strange,  sir,  to  feel  that  I  have  killed  a  man — and  one 
so  much  older  than  myself.  What  would  poor  mother  say,  if  she 
was  alive  and  knew  it !" 

How  many  secret  avenues  to  the  boy's  nature,  and  his  mother's 
training,  were  laid  open  to  Singleton's  eyes,  with  these  words  of 
boyhood.  But  the  time  was  not  favourable  to  philosophy. 

"  Enough,  now,  Lance,  that  you  have  done  your  duty,  as  you 
were  bid — that  you  slew  this  miserable  creature  in  a  good  cause, 
and  for  the  safety  of  more  innocent  people.  Let  that  content  you. 
You  will  soon  get  over  all  that  is  strange  in  your  emotions.  One 
rifle  shot  will  cover  another.  Go  now,  put  on  your  jacket,  and 
think  no  more  of  the  matter." 

"  Ah  I"  murmured  the  boy,  upon  whom  new  and  3nly  half  re 
volting  experiences  were  rapidly  dawning, — "  ah !  I  can't  help 
thinking  of  it !  I  have  taken  the  life  of  a  man  1  What  would 
mother  say,  if  she  was  alive  and  knew  ?" 

He  moved  slowly  to  the  copse  where  he  had  thrown  down  his 
rifle  and  jacket,  his  thoughts  wandering  wide  from  his  immediate 
objects,  while,  to  his  eyes,  the  whole  atmosphere,  sky,  and  wood, 
seemed  bathed  in  a  deep  crimson  dye,  that  showed  the  sort  of  pas- 
lion  that  was  taking  possession  of  his  brain.  Ah !  how  rapidly 


392  THE    PARTISAN. 

• 

may  the  pure  young  soul  of  innocence — the  path  once  open,  the 
first  step  taken — become  bloody  with  sanguine  tide,  from  a  heart 
whose  billows  but  too  quickly  rise,  and  swell  above  the  brain,  and 
sweep  away  all  its  landmarks  of  justice,  and  love,  and  mercy  !  That 
first  lesson  in  the  work  of  strife — that  first  blow  struck,  which  tears 
the  life  away  from  the  heart  of  the  victim  !  Alas !  how  easy  after 
wards  to  wade  out  deep  in  the  sea  of  batt.e,  and  find  a  tumultuous 
joy  in  sounding  through  its  red  and  raging  billows,  forgetting,  so 
easily,  with  what  reluctance  and  horror,  at  first,  we  prepared  for 
the  deed,  and  approached  to  the  performance  of  the  fearful  work 
of  death. 

But  we  are  not  permitted  to  linger  only  on  the  gloomier  and 
more  revolting  aspects  of  the  picture.  It  has  other  scenes,  which 
justify  the  work,  if  they  cannot  wholly  reconcile  us  to  its  more 
tearful  results.  Let  us  turn,  with  Singleton,  to  another  quarter  of 
the  scene  of  this  little  skirmish.  The  group  which  now  meets  his 
eyes  amply  compensate,  by  the  innocent  joy  which  they  feel,  by 
the  glad  sense  of  escape  which  they  share  together,  for  all  that 
has  been  painful  and  oppressive  in  the  trial  he  has  just  gone 
though.  There  we  see  the  freed  captives,  rescued  by  the  blow 
which  destroyed  the  murderous  tory,  and  dispersed  his  band — 
there  rise  the  wretched  prisoners,  trembling  but  a  moment  before 
with  terrors  worse  than  death,  to  the  consciousness  of  life,  safety, 
and  liberty  1  The  beaten  and  bound  man  stands  erect.  He  has 
shaken  oft'  his  pangs  of  body,  in  the  feeling  of  his  new  sense  of 
safety  for  himself  and  kindred — his  wife  and  little  ones.  Oh ! 
what  compensation  to  the  gallant  soldier  is  that  cry,  that  cheer 
of  joy,  and  thanks,  and  gratulation,  from  every  lip,  of  that  recently 
doomed  and  trampled  circle !  They  hail  their  deliverer — they 
cling  around  him — tears  are  in  their  eyes,  the  most  expressive 
utterance  of  their  joys ;  and  murmurs  and  shouts,  on  all  sides, 
attest  the  new  consciousness  of  delight  and  freedom  which  they  feel. 

Conspicuous  among  these  poor  captives,  in  the  sudden  revulsion 
of  their  feelings,  growing  upon  the  new  and  fortunate  change  in 
their  condition,  is  the  family  of  the  brave  but  greatly  suffering  man 
whom  Gaskens  had  singled  out  as  the  especial  victim  of  his  malig 
nant  power.  He  had  escaped  the  halter,  but  how  narrowly  1  But 


SAFETY.  393 

where  is  he  now !  Scarcely  had  the  strife  ceased,  when  the  wife 
of  Griffin,  whom  the  tender  cares  of  the  daughter  had  recovered 
from  her  swoon,  was  seized  with  new  apprehensions  and  anxieties. 
She  had  been  told  th.it  the  seasonable  ambush  of  Singleton  had 
rescued  her  husband  from  the  rope  ;  but  a  new  terror  filled  hei 
soul,  as,  when  the  skirmish  ceased,  her  husband  did  not  appear.  She 
ran  through  the  crowd  of  captives  and  partisans,  crying  aloud  his 
name.  For  a  moment,  a  silent  dread  rilled  all  hearts,  as  the  woods 
returned  no  answer.  Wildly  the  woman  was  about  to  rush  away 
into  the  thickets,  the  daughter  following,  when  she  felt  a  pair  of 
strong  arms  thrown  around  her.  Blinded  by  her  tears  and  fears, 
she  could  see  nothing ;  but  she  heard  a  voice — but  a  single  word, 
and  her  arms  were  thrown  around  the  neck  of  the  brave  man,  and 
she  sobbed  convulsively. 

"  Oh  !  Wat !  oh  !  Wat !     I  haven't  lost  you,  Wat." 

"  No !  no  !  Ellen  !  no  !     Not  this  time." 

And  the  girl  clung  about  him,  with  her  one  word  also — thrice 
and  thrice  repeated — "  Oh  !  Father  !  my  dear,  dear  father  !" 

Singleton  was  a  strong  man,  not  much  given  to  the  melting 
mood,  but  the  tears,  spite  of  himself,  grew  into  his  eyes  as  he  sur 
veyed  the  simple,  touching,  wordless  embraces  of  these  poor,  fond 
people,  and  beheld  the  deep  sorrowful  sweetness  of  the  rapture  they 
enjoyed — the  rapture  which  is  kin  to  agony — the  pleasure  which 
grows  into  a  very  pain,  in  the  extreme  of  its  intensity. 

"  Oh !  are  you  indeed  safe,  my  husband  ?  Tell  me  true,  Wat 
Griffin,  is  there  no  more  danger  ?" 

"  Safe !  safe !  Ellen !  Thanks  to  these  brave  men.  We  are  all 
safe  from  this  danger." 

"  And  you — you  are  not  hurt  badly  ?" 

"  Spurred  only — riled  a  little,  back  and  sides  ;  but  sound  at  the 
core,  and  tough  enough  to  do  mischief  to  the  enemy  when  they 
give  me  but  a  chance." 

"  And  that  cruel  Gaskens !"  said  the  woman,  with  a  shudder, 
looking  round  her  as  she  spoke,  as  if  still  dreading  the  power  of  th« 
tory. 

"  The  wretch  is  on  his  back.  God  bless  the  bullet  that  come  ia 
time,  and  the  true  hand  that  sent  it," 


394  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  And  we  are  free,  my  father ;  free  to  go  home  again — to  our 
own  homo  ?"  said  the  daughter,  as  she  took  the  hand  of  her  father 
in  both  of  her  own. 

"  Home  !  where  is  it  ?"  he  exclaimed  fiercely,  and  with  the  same 
savage  expression  with  which  his  eyes  had  regarded  Gaskens,  even 
in  the  moment  of  his  greatest  danger.  "  Where  is  it  ?  Did  you 
not  see  the  blaze  through  the  trees,  as  we  looked  back  ?  Did  be 
not  throw  the  torch  into  the  loft  with  his  own  accursed  hands  ? 
and  yet  you  ask  for  our  home  We  have  no  home,  girl." 

"  But  we  are  free,  my  husband,  we  are  free.  You  will  go 
to  work — we  will  soon  have  another  in  the  old  place,  we  can  build 
a  log-house  in  a  short  time." 

"Never,  never!  I  do  no  such  folly.  What!  to  be  burned 
down  again  by  other  tories  ? — no,  no  !  I  am  chopped  already — I 
cannot  be  chopped  much  worse,  and  live ;  and  if  I  must  sutler,  let 
me  suffer  with  those  who  will  help  me  to  strike,  too,  and  to  revenge 
my  wrongs !  I  will  burn  too ;  I  will  kill  too.  I  will  have  blood 
for  what  I  have  lost,  and  the  sufferings  of  others  shall  pay  me  for 
my  own  and  yours." 

Singletun  approached  at  this  moment,  and  the  prisoners,  so  late 
ly  freed,  gathered  around  him.  Each  had  his  own  story  of  afflic 
tion  to  tell,  and  each  more  mournful  than  the  other. 

"They  chased  me,  it  mought  be  a  matter  of  three  miles,  'fore  1 
gin  up,  captain,  and  they  wore  out  a  bunch  of  hickories  on  my 
back,  becaise  I  run — jest  see  the  marks,"  was  the  complaint  of  one. 
Another  had  his  tale  of  petty  treachery :  his  neighbour  who  had 
eaten  a  hundred  times  of  his  bacon  and  hoecake,  had  come  in  the 
night  time,  shot  down  his  cattle,  and,  finally,  led  the  tories  to  his 
door  to  butcher  him.  Another  had  his  wife  shot  in  her  bed, 
in  mistake  for  himself,  while  he  was  traversing  the  swamp  to  make 
his  escape.  And  so  on — one  with  a  tale  of  simple  cruelty,  one  witli 
a  burning,  another  with  a  murder,  and  some  with  even  moix- 
atrocious  crimes — each  of  the  prisoners  had  his  own  and  his 
family's  sufferings,  at  the  hands  of  the  bloodthirsty  tories,  to  nar 
rate  to  their  deliverer. 

Singleton  administered  his  consolations,  and  put  arms  into  their 
hands.  The  grater  number  of  them  joined  him ;  those  who  did 


DECISION.  395 

not,  receiving  the  upbraidings,  in  no  stinted  measure,  of  those  who 
did.  The  lately  doomed  prisoner,  Griffin,  seized  upon  a  broad 
sword — a  massive  weapon,  which  had  fallen  from  the  hands  of  a 
huge-limbed  tory — and  pi-offered  himself  among  the  first.  His  wife 
laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm — 

"  Oh,  husband,  you  are  not  a-going  to  join  the  soldiers?  You  are 
not  going  a-fighting  ?" 

He  looked  sternly  upon  her,  and  shook  away  her  grasp  with 
indignation. 

"Ay,  but  I  am !  you  shan't  keep  me  from  my  duty  any  longer. 
I  wanted  to  come  out  six  months  ago,  but  you  tried  the  same  game 
over  me,  and  I  was  fool  enough  to  mind  you,  and  see  how  it's 
turned  out.  Our  cattle  shot — the  house  burnt — the  farm  destroyed 
— and  me  chopped  up,  and  almost  hung;  and  all  owing  to 
you." 

The  woman  sank  back  at  the  reproach.  The  girl  came  between 
them.  She  only  said  : 

"  Oh,  father !" 

The  tearfully  bright  eyes  of  the  girl  did  the  rest.  He  felt  their 
reproach ;  and  more  deeply  when  the  girl  turned  to  the  sad  and 
stricken  mother,  and  with  arms  about  her  neck,  murmured — 

"  He  don't  mean  it,  mother ;  it's  only  because  he's  wild  with  the 
fighting.  He  don't  mean  what  he  says." 

But  there  was  a  truth  at  the  bottom  of  Griffin's  reproaches,, 
though  the  blame  was  rather  his  than  his  wife's.  If  the  fears  of  the 
woman  kept  him  back  unwisely  from  his  duties,  the  weakness  was 
his.  But  without  meaning  unkindncss,  and  only  desiring  to 
declare  his  new  resolution,  Griffin  answered  the  apologetic  speech 
of  his  daughter  in  a  rough  fashion. 

"  I  do  mean  it !  I  do  mean  it !  She  whined,  and  begged,  and 
cried,  and  kept  me  back,  until  the  bloody  varmints  overcrowed  us 
at  every  turn.  She  shall  keep  me  back  no  longer.  I  say  to  you, 
major,  here's  an  arm,  and  here's  a  sword.  To  be  sure  the  arm's 
chopped,  and  the  owner  is  ragged  with  cuts  and  scratches;  but  no 
matter,  they're  true  blood,  and,  by  G — d,  it's  at  your  service  for 
old  Carolina.  Put  me  down  in  your  orderly  book  as  one  of  your 
men,  as  long  as  the  troop  holds  together.  Wat  Griffin  is  one  of 


396  THE    PAKTISAN. 

your  men,  and  one  of  Marion's  men,  and  one  of  all  men  that  ara 
enemies  to  the  tories." 

The  man  was  resolute,  and  his  wife  spared  all  farther  speech.  She 
knew  how  unavailing  was  the  woman's  pleading  against  the  stern 
will  of  the  man,  once  determined  upon.  She  clung  to  his  arm, 
however ;  and  it  could  be  seen,  in  that  moment  of  reserve  and  of 
doubt,  of  trying  adventure  and  long  fatigue  rising  up  before  them, 
that  the  firmness  of  her  resolution  to  share  his  fortunes  was  equal 
to  that  which  had  determined  him  upon  them. 

An  hour's  labour  buried  the  bodies  of  the  men  who  had  fallen  in 
the  conflict..  The  recruits  were  well  armed  from  the  hands  of  those 
who  had  perished  and  become  prisoners ;  and,,  with  a  troop  now 
grown  to  a  respectable  size  from  the  acquisitions  of  the  morning, 
Singleton  prepared  for  his  farther  progress.  The  men  were  soon 
mounted,  some  riding  double — as  the  number  of  horses  was  not 
now  equal  to  that  of  the  partisans.  The  prisoners  were  driven 
along  before  them ;  and  rather  more  slowly  than  they  otherwise 
would  have  marched,  not  thus  embarrassed,  our  little  corps  of 
patriots  was  soon  in  motion.  Singleton  led  the  march  at  a  gentle 
pace — the  boy,  Frampton,  as  had  latterly  beeu  his  wont,  taking  his 
place  and  keeping  close  alongside  of  his  conemand«r. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIL 

"  And  subtle  the  design,  and  deep  the  snare, 
And  various  the  employ  of  him  who  seeks 
To  spoil  his  fellow,  and  secure  himself" 

CERTAINLY,  man  is  never  so  legitimately  satisfied,  as  when  in  the 
realization  of  his  own  powers.  The  exercise  of  those  attributes 
which  make  his  nature,  is  the  duty  that  follows  his  creation;  and 
it  is  only  when  he  exceeds  the  prescribed  limit,  and  runs  into  excess, 
that  he  suffers  and  is  criminal.  How  various  are  these  powers — 
how  extensive  their  range — how  superior  their  empire !  Creative, 
destructive,  perceptive — all  co-operating  for  the  same  end — the 
elevation  of  his  own  capacities  and  condition.  They  are  those  of 
a  God — however  subordinate — and  they  prove  his  divinity.  Ba 
lanced  duly,  each  in  its  place,  and  restrained  as  well  as  promoted 
by  its  fellow,  he  deserves  to  be,  and  most  probably  will  be,  happy. 
But,  whether  the  balance  be  preserved  or  not,  the  discovery,  on  his 
part,  of  any  one  of  these  powers,  must  have  the  effect  of  elevating 
him  in  his  own  thought,  and  giving  him  pleasure  accordingly. 
Sometimes,  indeed,  to  such  a  degree  does  its  realization  delight 
him,  that  he  maddens  and  gluttonizes  in  its  enjoyment — he  gloats 
upon  it:  and,  from  a  natural  attribute,  cherished  fora  beneficial 
purpose,  and  forming  a  necessary  endowment,  it  grows  into  a  dis 
ease,  and  preys  upon  its  master. 

Such  is  that  love  of  enterprise  which  sometimes  loads  to  unge 
nerous  conquest;  such  that  stern  desire  of  justice  which  sometimes 
prompts  us,  in  defence  of  our  own  rights,  not  to  scruple  at  unne 
cessary  bloodshed.  In  the  pursuit  of  both,  the  original  purpose  is 
soon  lost  sight  of.  We  gauge  not  our  revenges  in  measure  with  the 
wrongs  we  suffer ;  and  the  fierce  excitements  which  grow  out  of 
their  prosecution,  become  leading,  if  not  legitimate,  objects  of  pur 
suit  themselves.  The  conquest  of  new  countries,  to  this  day,  at 
17* 


898  THE   PARTISAN. 

whatever  expense  of  blood  and  treasure,  is  scarcely  criminal  in  the 
eyes  of  civilized  and  Christian  man  ;  and  where  conscience  does 
suggest  a  scruple,  the  doubt  is  soon  set  aside  in  the  gracious  con 
sideration  of  those  vast  benefits  which  we  assume  to  bring  to  the 
people,  whose  claims  we  despise,  and  whose  lands  and  lives  we 
appropriate.  Yet  is  the  enterprise  itself  legitimate,  according  to 
our  nature ;  and  the  sense  of  resistance  to  injustice  and  oppression 
is  a  virtue  that  could  not  be  dispensed  with.  They  form  vital 
necessities  of  our  condition,  but  only  while  we  keep  them  subordi 
nate  to  our  virtues  and  necessities.  The  misfortune  is  that  we 
pamper  them,  as  we  do  favourite  children,  till  they  rise  at  last  into 
tyrants,  and  change  places  with  us. 

The  boy  Frampton  had  undergone  a  change  which  did  not 
escape  the  eye  of  Singleton  as  be  rode  beside  him.  The  lively 
laugh  had  left  his  countenance,  the  gentle  play  of  expression  had 
departed  from  his  rich,  red,  and  well  chiselled  mouth,  and  in  place 
of  them  the  eye  was  kindled  with  a  deep  glare  of  light,  lowering 
and  strong,  while  the  lips  curled  into  a  haughty  loftiness  becoming 
tLe  lord  of  highest  station.  A  vein  that  crossed  his  forehead 
was  full  almost  to  bursting,  and  his  brow  lowered  with  an  expres 
sion  that  indicated  feelings,  even  then  warmly  active  with  the  brief 
scene  of  strife  through  which  they  had  so  recently  passed.  The 
boy  was  a  boy  no  longer ;  he  had  realized  one  of  the  capacities  of 
manhood ;  he  had  slain  his  man ;  he  had  taken  one  step  in 
revenging  the  murder  of  his  mother ;  he  had  destroyed  one  of  the 
murderers ;  but,  more  than  all — he  had  taken  human  life. 

Something  of  a  higher  feeling  than  this  was  at  the  same  time 
working  in  his  bosom.  Though  previously  untaught,  he  had  learned 
too  much  of  the  struggle  going  on  in  the  colonies,  not  to  have 
acquired  some  knowledge  of  the  abstract  question  upon  which  it. 
depended  ;  and  though  his  thoughts  were  all  vague  and  indistinct 
•11  the  subject,  the  rights  of  man,  the  freedom  of  the  citizen,  and 
the  integrity  of  his  country,  he  had  learned  to  feel  should  all  be 
among  the  first  considerations,  as  their  preservation  was  always  the 
first  care,  of  the  true  patriot.  The  furious  popular  discussions  of 
the  five  preceding  years  had  not  been  unheard  by  the  youthful 
•oldier  •  and  its  appeals  were  not  lost  upon  one,  who,  in  his  OWP 


PRECOCITY    OF   THE   PASSIONS. 

family  had  beheld  such  a  bloody  argument  as  had  long  since 
taught  htm  to  illustrate  by  the  real  and  actual^  those  lessons  which 
otherwise  might  have  floated  through  his  mind  as  only  so  much 
spirited  declamation.  His  country  catered  into  his  thoughts,  there- 
lore,  in  due  connexion  with  his  feeling  of  the  individual  wrong 
which  he  had  sustained;  and  that  personal  feeling  which  prompted 
the  desire  of  revenge,  was  lifted  higher,  and  rendered  holier,  by  this 
connexion.  It  became  hallowed  in  his  bosorn,  where  it  contem 
plated,  not  only  the  punishment  of  the  wrong- doer,  but  the  pro 
tection  of  the  cottage-home — his  own,  and  his  people's — from  the 
injustice  and  the  violence  of  the  invader.  It  grew  into  a  solemn 
principle  of  action  thus  associated,  and  the  moral  abstraction  over 
which  the  unassailed  citizen  might  have  dreamed  through  a  long 
season  of  years,  without  duly  considering  its  force  or  application, 
became  purely  practical  iji  the  eyes  of  young  Frampton — a  feeling 
of  his  heart,  rather  than  a  worked  out  problem  of  his  understanding. 
The  thought  grew  active  in  following  out  the  feeling;  and  Single 
ton,  as  the  boy  rode  abstractedly  beside  him,  revolving  a  thousand 
new  and  strange  sensations  that  were  running  through  his  mind, 
regarded  his  countenance  with  a  glance  of  melancholy  rather  than 
approval.  He  saw  that  in  his  glance,  which  taught  him  the  lead 
ing  activity  of  his  new  emotions.  The  boy  had  a  new  sentiment 
in  his  bosom,  the  contemplation  of  which  made  it  eminently  more 
familiar.  He  could  destroy — and  he  could  do  so  without  his  own 
rebuke.  He  could  take  the  life  of  his  fellow — and  good  men  could 
approve.  He  had  penetrated  a  new  world  of  thought,  and  he  was 
duly  enamoured  of  his  conquest ;  and, even  as  we  all  desire  to  renew 
the  novelty,  and  partake  a  second  time  of  the  strange  pleasure,  so 
the  heart  of  the  boy  panted  for  a  repetition  of  that  indulgence 
which  had  lifted  him  into  premature  manhood.  The  passions  grew 
active  without  the  least  countenance  of  reason  to  uphold  them,  and 
this  is  the  dangerous  point  in  their  history.  Crime  was  made  legi 
timate  to  him  now,  and  the  fruit  once  forbidden,  was  forbidden  no 
longer.  He  could  now  pluck  with  impunity — so  he  began  to 
think — and  his  mind  was  on  that  narrow  eminence  which  divides 
a  duty  from  an  indulgence — which  separates  the  close  approacli  of 
a  principle  to  an  appetite — which  changes  the  means  into  an  end  ; 


400  THE  PARTISAN. 

and,  identifying  the  excuse  for  violence  with  an  impelling  motive 
to  its  commission,  converts  a  most  necessary  agent  of  life  into  a 
powerful  tyranny,  which,  in  the  end,  runs  riot,  and  only  conquers 
to  destroy. 

Singleton  regarded  his  charge  with  a  close  attention,  as  lie  sur 
veyed  llie  unsophisticated  emotions  of  his  heart,  plainly  enough 
written  upon  his  face,  lie  read  there  all  that  was  going  on  within  ; 
and  his  own  heart  smote  him  at  the  survey.  He  thought  of  his 
sister  Emily,  of  her  prayer  for  peace,  her  denunciation  and  her 
dread  of  war ;  and  though  he  knew  not  yet  of  her  death,  the 
thought  that  she  might,  even  then,  be  a'silent  watcher  from  the 
heavens,  was  enough  to  persuade  him  to  an  effort  to  quiet  the  fierce 
spirit  at  work  within  the  bosom  of  the  boy.  lie  spoke ;  and  his 
voice,  modulated  by  grief  into  a  tone  as  soft  as  that  of  a  girl,  smote 
strangely  upon  the  ear  of  his  companion.  .  It  was  so  different  from 
the  wild  strain  of  thought  with  which  his  mind  was  crowded.  A 
note  of  the  trumpet — the  shriek  and  shout  of  advancing  foemen — 
had  been  far  less  discordant ;  and  the  boy  trembled  as  he  heard 
the  simple  utterance  of  his  own  name. 

"  Lance — Lance  Frampton." 

For  a  moment  he  was  incapable  of  all  reply.  The  eye  of  Single 
ton  was  fixed  upon  him  ;  and  when  he  met,  and  felt  the  look,  ho 
seemed  to  understand  the  rebuking  mood  of  his  superior.  His 
lips,  which  were  rigidly  compressed  before,  now  separated — though 
it  was  still  with  seeming  difficulty  that  he  answered — 

"  Sir !" 

"  Your  father  is  not  with  us,  boy  ?" 

"  No,  sir — I  have  not  seen  or  heard  him.  I  don't  think  he'll 
come  out  of  the  swamp,  sir ;  he  loves  the  Cypress :  though  I  reckon, 
if  he  only  knew  we  should  have  had  some  fighting  so  soon,  I'm 
sure,  sir,  he  would  be  glad  to  come.  He  loves  to  fight  with  the 
tories,  sir.  He  always  hated  them,  and  more  since  mother's  death 
— them,  and  the  dragoons." 

"  And  you  too,  boy,  seem  to  have  acquired  something  more  of 
fondness  for  the  sport  than  you  had  before.  You  have  learned  also 
to  love  to  fight  with  the  tories." 

The  words  of  Singleton  were  cold — rather  stern,  indeed ;  and  hi* 


RAPTURE   OF   THE   STRIFE.  401 

glance  was  not  calculated  to  encourage  the  stern  passion  which  was 
growing  so  active  in  the  breast  of  the  boy.  Lance  felt  the 
meaning  of  Singleton's  tones  and  glances,  and  the  disapprobation 
they  conveyed  ;  but  the  excitement  in  his  bosom  was  too  great  to 
be  brought  into  immediate  subjection,  liis  eye  flashed  and  light 
ened,  his  lip  quivered,  closed  firmly,  then  parted  and  quivered 
again,  and  his  hand  twisted  convulsively  the  bridle,  of  his  steed. 

"Oh,  sir,  I'm  not  afraid  now.  I  know  I  shan't  be  afraid.  I  didn't 
know  at  first  how  1  should  feel  in  shooting  at  a  man  ;  but  now,  sir, 
I'm  not  afraid.  I  wanted  to  run  in,  sir,  when  you  told  the  men 
to  charge,*but  I  had  to  go  round  and  cut  loose  the  prisoners ;  but 
I  watched  you  all  the  time,  sir;  and  I  clapped  my  hands,  sir — I 
couldn't  help  it — when  I  saw  your  sword  go  clean  down  through 
the  tory's  arm  and  into  his  head,  in  spite  of  all  he  coxild  do.  It  was 
a  great  blew,  that,  sir — a  great  blow  ;  but  I  couldn't  handle  a 
sword  so  heavy." 

There  was  something  of  a  desponding  earnestness  in  his  tones, 
as  this  last  regret  was  uttered,  and  Singleton  surveyed,  as  some 
curious  study,  the  face,  so  full  of  transitions,  of  the  boy  beside  him. 
After  the  pause  of  a  moment,  in  a  calm,  subdued  voice,  he  said  to 
him — 

"  You  shall  have  a  sword,  Lance — a  small  one  to  suit  your  hand. 
But  remember,  boy,  war  is  not  a  sport,  but  a  duty,  and  we  should 
not  love  it.  It  is  a  cruel  necessity,  and  only  to  be  resorted  to  as  it 
protects  from  cruelty ;  and  mu&t  be  a  tyranny,  even  though  it 
shields  us  from  a  greater.  It  is  to  be  excused,  but  not  to  be  jus 
tified  ;  and  we  should  not  spill  blood,  but  as  the  spilling  of  blood  is 
always  apt  to  discourage  the  wrong-doer  in  those  practices  by 
which  all  men  must  suffer,  and  through  which  blood  must  be  spilt 
in  far  greater  quantity." 

The  boy  looked  on  the  speaker  with  an  expression  of  astonish 
ment  which  he  did  not  seek  to  conceal.  Singleton  noticed  the 
expression,  and  continued  with  his  lesson.  But  it  is  not  the  youth 
ful  mind,  full  of  spirit,  and  resolute  in  adventure,  which  will  draw 
such  nice  distinctions  as  the  partisan  insisted  on.  The  duty  would 
be  performed,  doubtless,  while  it  continued  a  pleasure ;  but  when 
Vhe  pleasure  to  the  mind  survives  the  duty,  it  is  not  often  that  tha 


402  THE    PARTISAN. 

unregi  lated  impulse  can  be  persuaded  to  forbear.  The  boy  replied 
accordingly — 

"  Ah,  sir,  and  yet  I  watched  your  face  when  you  were  fighting, 
and  you  seemed  glad  to  cut  down  your  enemy,  and  your  eye  was 
bright,  and  flashing  with  a  joy,  and  your  lip  even  laughed,  sir — I 
saw  it  laugh,  sir,  as  plainly  as  I  see  it  now  ;  and  then  your  shout, 
sir,  and  your  cry  to  '  charge' — Oh  !  sir,  it  was  like  a  trumpet." 

"  Still  war  is  a  duty  only,  and  should  not  be  made  a  pleasure, 
Lance.  It  has  its  pleasures,  as  every  duty  must  have  ;  but  they 
are  dangerous  pleasures,  and  not  the  less  so  because  we  can  smile 
when  indulging  in  them.  It  is  a  sad  reflection,  boy,  thtt  we  can 
laugh  when  taking  the  life  of  a  fellow-creature,  and  taking  the  life, 
too,  that  we  can  never  restore." 

"  Yet,  sir,  where  can  be  the  harm  of  killing  a  tory  ?  They  don't 
mind  killing  our  people,  and  burning  their  houses,  and  driving  off 
their  cattle.  I  wish  I  could  kill  a  thousand  of  them." 

Singleton  looked  again  on  the  boy,  and  saw  that  he  was  nevei 
more  in  earnest,  lie  thought  once  more  of  his  sister's  pleadings, 
and  her  fine  eloquence  in  defence  of  humanity,  while  considering 
this  very  subject.  What  a  contrast !  But  the  one  was  on  the 
verge  of  the  grave  and  of  heaven,  and  her  spirit  attuned  to  the 
divine  and  gentle  influence  of  the  abodes  of  bliss.  The  other  waa 
on  the  verge  of  life — its  storms  yet  to  go  through,  and  by  them  to 
be  purified,  or  never.  No  wonder  that  the  mood  was  sanguinary. 
The  trial  and  the  path  before  him  seemed  to  call  for  it. 

"  Alight,  boy,"  said  Singleton,  "  and  bring  me  a  gourd  of  that 
water,  while  the  troop  is  coming  up." 

A  branch  ran  across  their  path,  and  an  opportunity  was  sug 
gested  to  the  partisan  for  a  useful  lesson  to  his  charge.  With 
alacrity  the  youth  alighted  from  his  horse,  and  went  to  gather  the 
water,  while  Singleton  waited  the  coming  up  of  the  long  cavalca<'o 
of  troop  and  prisoners,  women  and  children,  behind. 

The  boy  stooped  over  the  clear  streamlet  which  trickled  without 
A  murmur  over  the  road ;  it  gave  back  his  features  from  its  untrou 
bled  mirror,  and  he  started  back  from  their  contemplation.  He 
had  never  before  seen  that  expression— the  expression  of  triumph 
in  war,  and  a  sanguinary  desire  for  a  renewal  of  its  fierce  and 


DEFORMING   EFFECTS   OF    WAR.  403 

feverish  joys.  The  blood-shot  eye,  the  corded  vein,  the  wild  and 
eager  expression,  were  all  new  and  startling  as  new,  to  him  who 
had  been  the  favourite  of  a  mother,  gentle  to  weakness,  and  foster 
ing  him  with  a  degree  of  sensibility  almost  hostile  to  manhood. 

He  dashed  the  gourd  into  the  water,  and  hurried  away  with  the 
draught  to  his  commander.  Singleton  barely  looked  upon  him, 
and  the  eye  of  the  boy  was  turned  instinctively  from  his  gaze — but 
for  a  moment,  however.  His  firmness  was  soon  restored,  the  strong 
fire  again  filled  it,  and  once  more  it  met  that  of  his  superior 
unshrinkingly.  Singleton  gave  him  back  the  vessel,  and  from  that 
moment  felt  assured  of  his  nature.  He  saw  that  courage  to  despe 
ration,  and  a  love  of  the  fight — that  rapture  of  fhe  strife,  which 
was  the  Hun's  passion — were  all  working  with  a  fiery  ardour, 
which  no  immaturity  of  strength,  no  inexperience,  could  keep 
down  or  diminish.  He  waited  till  he  was  again  mounted,  and  at 
his  side ;  and  he  himself  felt,  in  despite  of  his  own  exhortations,  a 
feverish  sort  of  pleasure  at  seeing,  so  clearly  depicted  as  they  were 
upon  the  face  of  the  boy,  the  emotions  of  so  bold  and  promising 
a  spirit. 

By  this  time  the  lengthening  files  of  the  cavalcade  had  all  con 
tracted,  and  had  overtaken  the  advance,  where  it  had  rested  with 
Singleton.  Humphries,  who  had  given  his  attention  hitherto  chiefly 
to  the  prisoners  and  the  rear,  now  rode  up  to  his  commander. 
They  conferred  upon  the  subject  of  their  next  proceeding,  and  as 
the  evening  was  at  hand,  and  there  could  be  little  prospect  of  their 
reaching  the  Santee  that  night  in  time  to  cross  it,  burdened  as  they 
were  with  baggage  and  prisoners,  they  had  almost  resolved  to  lie  by 
with  the  coming  darkness  ;  but  while  they  spoke,  Davis,  who  had 
been  sent  on  ahead  with  the  scouts,  rode  in  with  intelligence  which 
partially  altered  their  determination. 

"There  are  outriders,  sir,  tbat  hang  on  our  skirts,  all  wdl 
mounted.  We  have  had  a  glimpse  at  them  through  the  bush,  but 
not  to  overhaul  them.  Once  or  twice,  sir,  we  saw  men  peeping 
out  from  the  woods,  sir,  but  though  we  pushed  hard,  they  got  shet 
of  us  mighty  quick,  and  we  lost  'em.  I  only  rode  up  to  put  you 
on  your  guard,  for  I  reckon  there's  more  of  'em  that  we  don't 
•ee." 


404  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  Tis  well :  put  out  again,  Davis,  and  do  not  let  them  escape 
you  now  if  you  can  help  it.  We  shall  see  to  the  troop." 

Davis  rode  away,  and  Singleton  proceeded  to  arrange  his  men 
for  all  circumstances. 

"  Close  up,  Humphries,  and  bring  your  prisouers  into  the  centre 
see  that  they  do  not  straggle,  and  let  your  men  look  to  their  arms 
Put  them  in  preparation  for  any  chance." 

Then  calling  to  the  front  a  squad  of  the  better  armed  and 
mounted,  the  partisan  extended  his  line  on  the  advance,  so  as  to 
throw  a  few  troopers,  on  either  hand,  into  the  woods  that  skirted 
the  road.  It  was  not  long  after  this  ihat  Davis,  with  the  scouts, 
who  had  more  Chan  once  detected  a  pair  of  keen  eyes  watching 
them  from  the  distant  copse,  now  came  suddenly  upon  a  country 
man,  who  sat  mending  a  bridle  upon  a  log  at  the  road-side.  He 
did  not  'seem  much  startled  at  their  appearance,  and  his  whole 
features  wore  an  expression  of  the  most  approved  simplicity  and 
tang-froid.  He  made  no  movement  until  the  scouts  had  actually 
surrounded  him,  then  blurted  out  his  astonishment  with  the  cool 
est  composure. 

"  Why,  hello  1  now ;  but  you  block  a  fellow  in,  mighty  like  as 
ef  you  wanted  to  look  at  his  teeth.  What  mought  your  wish  be, 
stranger  2" 

Thus  addressing  Davis,  the  countryman  rose,  and  with  an  air 
half  of  doubt  and  half  of  defiance,  confronted  the  uew-comers. 
The  Goose-Creeker  looked  on  his  big  bones  with  admiration,  for 
the  man  was  huge  of  limb,  though  uncomely ;  and  the  contrast 
between  him  and  Davis  was  calculated  at  once  to  command  atten 
tion.  The  lieutenant,  however,  did  not  long  delay  his  answer. 

"  Well,  now,  friend,  our  wish  aint  mighty  hard  to  come  at;  am', 
the  first  question  1  hev  to  ax  you,  is  after  yourself.  What  may 
your  name  be,  and  what's  your  business?" 

The  man  chuckle;!  incontinently  for  a  moment,  then  recovering, 
and  looking  grave,  he  replied — 

"  Look  you,  stranger,  I  never  let  a  man  poke  fun  at  mo  twice  on 
the  same  day ;  so  I  give  you  fair  warning.  I'm  all  hell  a'ter  a 
varmint,  and  no  tree  your  eyes  ever  looked  on  will  come  at  all 
nigh  to  hide  you,  if  I  once  sartainly  set  out  to  hunt  you  up.  So, 


THUMBSCREW.  405 

now,  you'll  see  it's  a  mighty  ridiculous  notion  you  have  if  jnou  think 
to  poke  fun  at  Thumbscrew  without  paying  for  it" 

"  Well,  Mr.  Thumbscrew,  if  so  be  that's  your  true  name,  I'm 
much  obligated  to  you  for  your  civility  in  warning  me  about  your 
ways.  I've  no  doubt  you're  thought  a  big  man  in  your  part  of  the 
country ;  but  I'm  thinking  they'd  look  at  you  for  a  mighty  small 
one  in  mine.  But  that's  not  the  business  now.  Big  or  little,  Mr. 
Thumbscrew,  there's  too  many  upon  you  now  to  give  you  much 
chance,  so  the  best  way  for  you  is  to  bear  one  dry  scraping  kindly, 
and  that'll  save  you  from  two." 

,  "  What !  won't  you  give  a  fellow  fa'r  play  ?  Well,  that's  not  so 
genteel,  stranger.  Fa'r  play's  a  jewel,  all  the  world  over ;  and, 
man  for  man,  or  if  so  be  you  mought  like  it  better,  I'm  not  scru 
pulous  to  take  two  of  you  for  a  bout  or  so  on  the  soft  airth  ;  but 
more  than  that'll  be  a  leetle  on  comfortable." 

"  We  haint  got  time  for  that,  friend,"  was  the  careless  reply  of 
Davis ;  "  and  all  thai  we  wants  from  you  in  the  way  of  civility  is 
jest  to  answer  a  few  questions  that  we  shall  ax  you." 

"  Well,  ax  away  "  was  the  half-surly  reply — "  ax  away  ;  but  it 
wouldn't  take  too  much  time  for  a  lift  or  two  on  the  soft  grass, 
I'm  thinking." 

"  You  say  your  name  is  Thumbscrew  ?" 

"Yes,  my  boy-name ;  but  at  the  christening  they  gin  me  another, 
that  aint  so  easy  to  mention.  The  true  name  is  John  Wether- 
spoon,  at  your  sarvice ;  but  Thumbscrew  comes  more  handy,  you 
see,  and  them  that  knows  me  thinks  it  suits  me  better." 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Thumbscrew,  or  Wetherspoon — now,  will  you 
tell  us  what  you're  doing  here  in  these  parts  at  this  time  of  day  ?" 

"  Well,  that's  jest  as  easy  to  larn  now,  sence  you  see  I'm  mend 
ing  my  bridle,  and  looking  arter  my  critter  that's  been  stolen,  I 
reckon,  by  some  thieving  soldiers — saving  your  presence,  and  axing 
your  pardon." 

"  What  soldiers  ?" 

"  Why,  how  do  I  know  I  Sometimes  they're  one  thing,  and 
sometimes  another ;  now  they're  whigs,  and  now  they're  tories. 
One  time  they're  Gainey's,  another  time  they're  Marion's  men,  just 
Rf  the  notion  suits  'em." 


406  THE   PARTISAN. 

"And  what  are  ;ou  ?     Are  you  a  whig  or  tory !" 

"Neither,  thank  God,  for  all  his  civilities  and  rnarcies.  Fm  » 
gentleman,  and  not  a  soldier,  no  how,  I'll  hev  you  to  know." 

"  And  where  do  you  live  when  you're  at  home  ?" 

"  In  the  Big  Bend,  by  Red  Stone  Hollow,  close  to  the  Claj 
Church,  and  right  side  oi^Black  Heifer  Swamp.  My  farm  is  called 
Hickory  Head  Place ;  and  the  parson  who  does  our  preaching  » 
named  Broadcast — he  preaches  through  his  nose,  and  has  a  wai 
with  him." 

"  What  way  ?" 

"  Margery  Way,  what  does  his  mending*;  all  the  parish  knows 
her." 

"  Well,  but  I  don't  know  any  of  these  places  or  people  you've 
been  telling  me  about,"  said  Davis. 

"  I  reckoned  as  much.  They  say,  though  I've  never  been  in 
them  parts,  that  you  folks,  from  low  down  by  the  sea,  are  most 
unmarcifully  stupid." 

"  Humph  !  and  how  far  are  we  here  from  the  river  ?" 

"  A  small  chance  of  a  run,  if  so  be  you  mean  the  Santee.  This 
morning,  when  I  left  it,  it  was  ten  miles  off,  but  it's  been  running 
ever  since ;  and  God  knows,  stranger,  T  can't  tell  how  far  it's  got  to 
by  this  time." 

"  I'm  jub'ous,  Mr.  Thumbscrew,  that  you're  playing  possum  with 
me,  after  all ;  and  if  so  be  I  find  you  at  that  work,  I'll  hang 
you,  d — n  my  buttons,  if  I  don't,  by  your  own  bridle,  and  no  two 
ways  about  it,  old  fellow — how  far  is  the  Santee  ?" 

"  Well,  now,  you're  mighty  like  getting  in  a  passion,  and  that'll 
be  quite  too  ridiculous.  The  Santee,  now,  if  it  stands  still,  you 
see,  is  jest  about  ten  miles  away  to  the  right.  It  mought  be  more, 
and  it  mought  be  less,  but  it's  tharabouts,  if  it  stands  where  it 
ought;  but  I  tell  you  it  runs  mighty  fast;  and  thar's  no  knowing 
whar  you  may  catch  up  with  it,  the  next  time  you  happen  to  find 
it." 

"  Ten  miles — and  what  have  you  seen  in  the  shape  of  men  and 
soldiers  about  here  ?  Have  you  seen  any  tories  or  any  whigs ! 
Marion's  men,  they  say,  are  thick  along  the  swamp." 

"It's  a  bad  lusiness  that,  stranger,  hunting  after  sodgen.     I 


OWLS   AT   ROOST. 

knows  nothing  about  them.  If  I  could  only  find  Niinrod,  now, 
stranger,  you  can't  count  up  how  little  I'd  care  about  all  your  big 
sword-men,  tories  or  tvhigs,  red  coats  or  blue.  Thar  all  the  same 
to  Thumby.  They've  stolen  the  nag,  and  may  he  ride  to  the  ugly 
place  with  the  rapscallion  that  straddles  him,  drop  him  fairly  inside 
the  door,  and  come  back  a  minute  after  to  Red  Stone  Hollow." 

In  this  way,  until  Singleton's  approach,  did  Davis  seek,  fa  vain, 
to  obtain  his  information  from  the  stranger.  He  communicated 
his  ill  success  to  his  superior,  and  the  incorrigible  Thumbscrew  was 
brought  before  him.  The  partisan  surveyed  him  closely,  and  saw 
at  a  glance  that  the  fellow,  in  southern  phrase,  had  been  "  playing 
possum,"  and  knew  mucli  more  than  he  delivered.  But  the  kej 
was  at  hand,  and  the  first  words  of  Singleton  unsealed  the  mystery. 

"  How  are  the  owls,  Thumbscrew  ?" 

"  At  roost,  but  ready  for  the  moon,"  was  the  instant  reply  ;  and 
every  feature  was  full  of  awakening  intelligence.  Singleton  or 
dered  his  men  back,  and  conferred  with  him  alone. 

"  The  swamp  fox  is  at  hand — not  moving?" 

"He  waits  for  Major  Singleton,  and  prepares  Lr  the  continen 
tals ;  but  must  lie  close  for  the  present,  as  the  tories  under  Pyles, 
Huck,  Tyues,  and  Harrison,  are  all  around  him." 

"  And  how  far  are  we  now  from  Nelson's  ?" 

"  Just  nine  miles,  and  the  road  clear,  all  but  our  scouts.  Horry, 
with  twenty  men,  scours  to  the  left,  and  ten  of  us  skirt  the  track 
to  Nelson's,  partly  on  the  look  out  for  you,  sir,  and  partly  for  the 
tories." 

"  'Tis  well — you  have  a  horse  ?" 

"  Ay,  sir,  close  in  the  wood." 

"  Shall  we  be  able  to  reach  the  Santee  before  dark  ?" 

"  Impossible,  sir,  with  all  your  men  ;  but  a  detachment  may,  and 
bad  better  ride  on  to  prepare  for  the  rest.  Colonel  Marion  is  fast 
transferring  the  boats  to  the  other  side,  and  as  the  road  is  clear, 
sir,  you  would  do  best  to  spur  forward  with  a  few,  while  the  -ieute- 
nant  brings  up  the  remainder." 

Desirous  of  securing  the  passage,  Singleton  adopted  the  coun 
sel,  and  singling  out  a  dozen  of  his  best  horse,  he  led  the  way 
with  his  new  guide,  and  left  Humphries  to  bring  up  the  cavalcade 


CHAPTER    XXX  VIII 


thick  woods, 


Strange  aspects,  and  the  crowding  thing*  tha>  rove, 
Peopling  their  deep  recesses." 

THE  little  force  led  by  Singleton,  in  advance  of  his  main  body 
continued  to  make  acquisitions  at  every  step  of  its  progress.  The 
scouts  of  Mai-ion,  lining  the  woods  at  convenient  intervala  from 
each  other,  were  soon  notified  of  the  approach  of  friends  by  the 
peculiar  whistle  which  Thumbscrew  employed ;  a  whistle  shrill  in 
itself,  and  singularly  modulated,  which  Marion's  men  were  all  taught 
to  understand.  They  came  out,  one  by  one,  from  the  bush  ;  brought 
out  their  hidden  horses,  and  each,  answering  to  his  nom  de  f/iierre, 
as  it  was  called  out  by  Thumbscrew,  took  his  place  along  with  the 
advancing  party.  There  were  Supple  Jack  and  Crabstick,  Red 
Possum  and  Fox  Squirrel,  Slickfoot  and  Old  Ben  ;  all  men  of  make 
and  mettle,  trusty  and  true,  and  all  of  them,  in  after  years,  winning 
a  goodly  reputation  in  the  land,  which  the  venerable  tradition,  in 
sundry  places,  will  "  not  willingly  let  die." 

The  river  was  now  at  hand,  and  Thumbscrew  was  required  to 
give  the  signal  to  the  scouts  who  were  at  watch  along  its  banks. 
He  did  so,  and  the  effect  was  admirable.  From  one  bush  to  ano 
ther,  cover  to  cover,  they  all  gave  back  the  emulous  sounds.  The 
old  cypress  had  a  voice  from  its  hollow,-  the  green  bush  from  its 
shade,  and  the  shrill  echoes  rollingly  arose  from  the  crowding  leaves 
of  the  thick  tree  that  overhung  the  river,  reverberating  far  away 
along  its  bosom.  The  signal  was  but  once  repeated,  and  all  was 
still  for  a  moment.  Suddenly,  the  approaching  troop  heard  the 
plash  of  paddles,  the  plunge  of  a  horse  in  the  water,  and  a  quick, 
lively  blast  from  the  common  horn,  the  sounds  seeming  to  arise 
from  the  swamp  on  the  opposite  shore.  Pushing  his  steed  forward, 
and  followed  by  his  men,  Singleton  rode  up  to  the  bluff  of  the 
river,  just  as  the  last  gay  glimpses  of  the  setting  sun  hung  like  M 


THE   SV.'AMP    FOX.  409 

many  rose-streaks  upon  its  bosom,  trembling  to  aiid  fro  like  so 
much  gossamer  on  the  green  edges  of  the  gathering  foliage. 

And  what  a  sight,  in  addition,  was  before  their  eyes  1  The  sur 
face  of  the  river  was  strewn  with  boats  of  all  sorts  and  sizes.  A 
dozen  or  more,  filled  with  the  men  of  Marion,  were  in  progress  from 
one  side  of  the  stream  to  the  other,  while  they  towed  behind  them 
as  many  more,  laden  with  live-stock  and  provisions — a  large  assess 
ment  having  just  been  made  upon  the  farmsteads  of  the  neighbour 
ing  tories. 

They  had  reached  the  centre  of  the  stream,  when  the  signal  of 
the  scouts  struck  their  ears ;  and  the  quick  command  of  their 
leader,  the  renowned  partisan — for  it  was  Marion  himself  who  led 
them — arrested  their  further  progress.  He  stood  erect  when  the 
troopers  rode  up  to  the  bank;  and  the  eye  of  Singleton  soon  dis 
tinguished  him  from  the  rest. 

Yet  there  was  little  in  his  appearance,  to  the  casual  spectator,  to 
mark  him  out  from  his  compatriots.  His  habiliments  were  not 
superior  to  theirs.  They  had  borne  the  brunt  of  strife,  and  needed, 
quite  as  much  as  those  of  the  rest,  the  friendly  hand  of  repair  and 
restoration.  His  person  was  small,  even  below  the  middle  stature, 
and  exceedingly  lean  and  slender.  His  body  was  well-set,  however, 
with  the  exception  of  his  knees  and  ankles,  which  were  thick,  in 
compact,  and  badly  formed.  At  this  time,  he  rested  almost  entirely 
upon  one  leg — the  other  being  at  ease  upon  the  gunwale  of  the 
boat.  He  still  suffered  pain  in  one  of  his  limbs  from  a  recent  hurt ; 
and  in  walking,  an  unpleasant  limping  movement  was  readily  per 
ceptible.  His  dress,  as  Singleton  now  beheld  him,  was  one  rather 
unusual  for  a  commanding  officer  from  whorr  so  much  was  ex 
pected.  It  consisted  of  a  clo^-hodied  jacket,  of  a  deep  crimson 
colour,  but  of  coarse  texture.  His  smallclothes,  of  the  fashion  of 
the  day,  were  badly  conceived  for  such  a  figure.  The  free  Turkish 
trowsers  might  have  concealed  those  defects  which  the  closely 
fitting  fashions  of  the  time  rendered  unnecessarily  conspicuous.  His 
were  of  a  blue  stuff,  coarse  like  the  jacket,  and  made  with  exceeding 
plainness,  without  stripe  or  ornament  of  any  description,  beyond  the 
frog  of  his  sword,  the  small  cut-and-thrust  which  hung  rather  low 
at  hi*  aide.  A  white  handkerchief  about  his  neck,  wound  loosely 


THE    PARTISAN. 

accorded  strangely  with  the  rest  of  his  dress,  and  did  not  seerrt, 
in  its  disposition,  to  have  tasked  much  of  the  care  of  the  wearer. 
His  uniform,  if  so  it  may  be  styled,  was  completed  by  the  round 
leathern  cap,  forming  a  part  of  the  dress  which  he  wore  when  an 
officer  in  the  second  South  Carolina  regiment.  It  bore  in  front  a 
diver  crescent,  with  the  words,  "  Liberty  or  death,"  inscribed  be 
neath.  He  wore  no  plume,  but  in  it?  place  a  white  cockade,  which 
was  also  worn  by  all  his  men,  in  order  that  they  might  be  more 
readily  distinguished  in  their  night  actions  with  the  tories.  Such 
was  the  garb  and  figure  of  the  famous  guerilla — the  Swamp  Fox — 
of  Carolina. 

The  features  of  his  face  did  not  ill  accord  with  the  style  of  his  gar 
ments.  His  skin  was  dark  and  swarthy ;  "his  eyes,  black,  piercing, 
and  quick ;  his  forehead,  high,  full,  and  commanding ;  his  nose  was 
aquiline ;  his  chin  bold  and  projecting,  though  not  sharp  ;  and  his 
cheek  sunken  and  deeply  touched  with  the  lines  of  thought.  He 
was  now  forty-eight  years  of  age — in  the  very  vigour  of  his  man 
hood — hardened  by  toil  and  privation,  and  capable  of  enduring 
every  sort  of  fatigue.  Cool  and  steady,  inflexible,  unshrinking; 
never  surprised ;  never  moving  without  his  object,  and  always  with 
the  best  design  for  effecting  it,  Marion,  perhaps,  of  all  the  brave 
men  engaged  in  the  war  of  American  liberty,  was  the  one  best  cal 
culated  for  the  warfare  of  the  partisan.  His  patriotism,  wisdom, 
and  fearlessness  moved  always  together,  and  were  alike  conspicuous 
Never  despairing  of  his  cause,  he  was  always  cheerful  in  vicissitude 
and  elastic  under  defeat.  His  mind  lose,  with  renewed  vigour, 
from  the  press  of  necessity ;  and  every  new  form  of  trial  only  sti 
mulated  him  to  newer  and  more  successful  efforts.  His  moral  and 
military  character,  alike,  form  the^mos»t  perfect  models  for  the 
young,  that  can  be  furnished  by  the  history  of  any  individual  of 
any  nation. 

The  paddles  of  the  rowers  were  lifted  as  Singleton  appeared  in 
sight.  The  boats  rested  in  the  centre  of  the  river,  and,  shading  his 
eye  with  his  hand,  Marion  closely  noted  the  troop  as  its  several 
members  wound  out  of  the  woods  and  gathered  along  the  bank. 
He  did  not  need  much  time  in  the  survey,  before  his  keen  eye 
singled  out  the  persons  of  such  of  the  new-comers  as  he  had  before 


CONFERENCE.  411 

known.     His  voice,  strong,  regular,  and  clear,  though  at  the  same 
time  subdued  and  musical,  was  heard  immediately  after. 

*  Ah,  Major  Singleton,  you  are  as  prompt  as  ever.     I  rejoice  to 
see  you.     You  come  in  good  season,  though  you  seem  but  poorly 
accompanied." 

A  few  words  from  Singleton  explained  the  cause  of  his  apparent 
weakness,  and  the  orders  of  Marion  were  promptly  given. 

"  Lieutenant  Conyers,  throw  off  the  empty  boats  and  put  back 
after  me  in  your  own,  leaving  the  spare  ones.  Take  the  whole  of 
them,  for  the  squad  of  Major  Singleton  will  doubtless  fill  them  all. 
McDonald,  convey  the  rest  to  the  camp,  and  let  Oscar*  bring  Ball  f 
with  him.  It  may  be  difficult  otherwise  to  get  the  strange  horses 
over,  and  there  is  no  flat." 

With  these,  and  a  few  other  instructions,  Marion  led  the  way 
back  to  where  Singleton  with  his  troop  awaited  him  ;  and  a  few 
minutes  only  had  elapsed  when  they  stood  once  more  together  in 
close  conference.  The  brief  history  of  past  events  was  soon  given, 
and  the  major  was  delighted  to  meet  with  the  unqualified  approval 
of  his  superior.  He  learned  from  Marion  that  Col.  Walton  had 
gone  forward  to  join  with  Gates  only  a  few  hours  before  his  arrival, 
having  being  anxious  to  find  active  service  at  as  early  a  time  as 
possible.  He  had  not  endeavoured  to  dissuade  him,  as  his  was  an 
independent  commission ;  though  the  determination  of  Marion 
himself,  was  to  proceed  with  the  same  object  in  the  same  direction. 
His  force,  with  the  recruits  brought  by  Singleton,  was  now  some 
thing  more  respectable  in  numbers,  if  not  in  equipment.  In  arms  and 
ammunition,  not  to  speak  of  clothes  and  the  usual  equipages  of 
camp  and  horse,  they  were  miserably  deficient;  but  with  the  hope 
that  the  continentals  were  provided  well,  and  with  a  surplus,  this 
matter  gave  the  partisan  but  little  concern.  The  small  supplies  of 
anrjs  and  ammunition  which  Singleton  had  succeeded  in  picking 
up  and  bringing  from  the  neigh bourhood  of  Dorchester,  weie  grate 
fully  welcomed;  and, with  a  new  hope  from  this  seasonable  arrival 
of  his  men,  Marion  determined  earnestly  to  press  his  advance  tc 

*  His  favourite  servant — called  "Buddy"  in  the  family. 

|  Ball,  his  horse — a  noble  animal,  that  always  led  the  tdrnno«  in  »wim 
ming  the  rivers. 


412  THE  PARTISAN. 

a  union  with  the  powerful  army  supposed  to  be  coming  on 

Gates. 

To  Singleton  he  partially  unfolded  his  determination,  thougii  he 
entered  into  no  particulars.  He  had  not  yet  determined  as  to  the 
time  and  route  of  his  purposed  movement.  It  was  necessary  that 
he  should  first  ascertain  the  precise  position  of  Gates ;  and,  again, 
he  had  the  duty  yet  to  perform,  in  part,  which  he  had  voluntarily 
undertaken,  of  destroying  all  the  boats  upon  the  river  at  the  vari 
ous  crossing-places,  which  might  otherwise  be  employed  to  facilitate 
the  progress  of  Lord  Cornwallis  to  the  assistance  of  Rawdon 
at  Caradeo ;  upon  which  place  it  was  now  understood  the  first 
effort  of  the  approaching  southern  army  would  be  made.  There  was 
little  doubt  that  Cornwallis  would  soon  be  apprised,  if,  indeed,  he 
was  not  already — of  the  necessity  for  his  presence  at  Camden ;  for, 
though  Singleton  hrul  arrested  one  courier,  and  Marion  himself 
another,  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  others  would  not  succeed 
in  passing  with  intelligence,  where  the  line  of  country  to  be 
watched  was  so  extensive.  To  retard  the  movements  of  the  com 
mander  at  Charleston — to  keep  him  back  until  Gates  should  be 
able  to  strike  his  first  blow,  was  an  object  quite  too  important 
to  be  foregone  or  given  up  but  with  great  effort ;  and  an  under 
standing  between  Sumter  and  Marion  had  assigned  one  of  the  two 
leading  routes,  to  the  designated  ground  of  battle,  to  each  of  the 
partisans. 

Marion  had  done  much  already  towards  his  object.  He  had 
destroyed  more  than  two  hundred  boats  on  both  sides  of  the  river, 
sparing  neither  canoe  nor  periagua.  All  within  reach  had  been 
broken  up,  save  the  few  which  he  still  employed  for  his  own  pur 
poses  in  the  swamp,  gathering  provisions,  rind  for  the  facilitation 
of  his  own  progress.  Another  day,  and  Singleton  would  not  have 
found  it  so  easy  to 

"S\dm  the  Esk  river,  where  ford  there  was  none." 

That  night,  as  soon  as  the  whole  party  had  come  up,  the  pas 
sage  was  effected,  and  without  any  great  difficulty.  The  horses 
swam  beside  the  boats,  secured  by  ropes  and  bridles,  while  their 
riders,  for  the  time,  occupied  a  more  secure  seat  within  them  than 


THE   PASSAGE   OF  THE   SANTEE.  418 

they  might  have  done  upon  their  saddles.  Ball,  the  famous  horse 
of  Marion,  led  the  way  for  the  rest,  and  he  went  through  the  water 
as  freely  and  fearlessly  as  a  native-born  of  the  element.  The  rest 
followed  with  some  little  shivering  and  restivoness,  but,  with  the 
boats,  they  soon  reached  the  shore,  and  were  then  mounted  and 
ridden  through  the  river-sedge,  over  the  fallen  tree,  arid  safely,  at 
length,  into  the  island  thicket  which  formed  the  hiding-place 
of  the  Swamp  Fox  on  the  Santee. 

The  boats,  filled  with  the  women,  children,  and  prisoners,  under 
u  small  guard,  had  a  more  tedious,  though  more  secure  and  easy 
passage  to  the  same  spot.  Soon  as  they  left  the  current  of  the 
river  "and  got  within  the  foliage,  the  swamp-suckers,  with  an  old 
experience,  seized  upon  their  long  canes,  twenty  feet  in  length,  to 
the  end  of  each  of  which  a  prong  of  the  deer's  antl  TS,  and  some 
times  a  crotched  stick  of  some  hard  wood,  had  been  tightly  fastened. 
^^7ith  these,  catching  the  overhanging  limbs  and  branches  that 
fenced  in  a  crooked  creek  that  led  to  the  island,  they  drew  them 
selves  along.  Without  dip  of  oar  or  plash  of  paddle,  silently  and 
still,  as  if  endued  with  a  life  of  its  own,  the  boat  swept  through  its 
natural  abode,  a  familiar  tenant  of  its  depths.  Torches  flashed 
along  at  intervals  upon  the  banks  to  guide  them,  but  they  were 
perfectly  unnecessary  to  the  frequent  dwellers  in  the  swamp.  They 
who  steered  and  led  the  way  could  have  travelled  by  night  and 
day,  unfearing,  and  unsweiving  from  their  designated  path,  with  the 
ease  of  a  citizen  along  the  high-road.  The  rapidity  of  their  move 
ments,  through  scenes  only  distinguishable  when  the  torch  flashed 
over  them,  delighted  and  astonished  the  men  from  the  low  country, 
who  now  traversed  them  for  the  first  time.  Porgy  was  absolutely 
overcome  with  anticipations.  He  could  not  refrain— such  was  the 
good-humour  which  the  novelty  of  their  progress  inspired — from 
addressing  Doctor  Oakeuburg,  who  sat  beside  him  in  the  boat,  on 
the  subject  of  his  musings. 

"  This,  Doctor  Oakenburg,"  said  he,  "  this  is  a  region — so  Major 
Singleton  tells  me — which,  in  the  language  of  Scripture,  may  be 
said  to  flow  with  milk  and  honey." 

The  doctor,  terrified  before  into  silence,  was  now  astounded  into 
speech. 

18 


414  THE   PARTISAN. 

"Milk  and  honey  !"  he  exclaimed,  with  wondering. 

*'  Ay,  doctor,  milk  and  honey  !  that  is  to  say,  with  fish  and  ter 
rapin,  which  I  take  to  mean  the  same  thing,  since  nobody  would 
desire  any  land  in  which  there  was  no  meat.  The  phrase,  milk 
and  honey,  simply  moans  to  COLVOV  the  idea  of  a  land  full  of  all 
things  that  men  of  taste  can  relisl  ;  or  we  may  even  go  farther  in 
this  respect,  and  consider  it  a  land  teeming  with  all  things  for  all 
tastes.  Thus,  yours,  Doctor  Oakenburg — -even  your  vile  taste  for 
snakes  and  eels — has  been  consulted  here  not  less  than  mine  for 
terrapin.  Along  the  same  tussock  on  which  the  bullet-head 
reposes,  you  will  see  the  moccasin  crawling  confidently.  In  the 
same  luxurious  wallow  with  the  sow,  you  will  behold  the  sly  alliga 
tor  watching  the  growth  daily  of  her  interesting  little  family.  The 
summer  duck,  with  its  glorious  plumage,  skims  along  the  same 
muddy  lake,  on  the  edge  of  which  the  d — d  bodiless  crane  screams 
and  crouches ;  and  there  are  no  possible  extremes  in  nature  to 
which  a  swamp  like  this  will  not  give  shelter,  and  furnish  some 
thing  to  arouse  and  satisfy  the  appetite.  It  is  a  world  in  itself, 
and,  as  I  said  before,  with  a  figurative  signification  of  course,  it  is 
indeed  a  land  of  milk  and  honey." 

"  Land  indeed  !"  said  one  of  the  troopers  ;  "  I  don't  see  much  of 
that  yet.  Here's  nothing  but  rotten  trees  and  mud-holes,  that  1 
can  make  out  when  the  lightwood  blazes." 

"  Never  mind,  my  lark,"  said  one  of  the  conductors  in  a  chuck 
ling  reply ;  "  wait  a  bit,  and  you'll  see  the  blessedest  land  you  ever 
laid  eyes  on.  It's  the  very  land,  as  the  big-bellied  gentleman  says, 
that's  full  of  milk  and  honey  ;  for,  you  see,  we've  got  a  fine  range, 
and  the  cattle's  a  plenty,  and  when  the  sun's  warm  you'll  hear  the 
bee  trees  at  midday — and  such  a  music  as  they'll  give  you !  Don't 
be  afeard  now,  and  we'll  soon  come  to  it." 

"  I  doubt  not,  my  good  friend,"  replied  Porgy,  with  a  singular 
gravity  of  tone  and  aspect — "  I  doubt  not  what  you  say,  and  I  re 
joice  that  your  evidence  so  fully  supports  my  opinion.  Your 
modes  of  speech  are  scarcely  respectful  enough,  however ;  for, 
though  a  man's  teeth  are  prime  agents  and  wofk  resolutely  enough 
for  his  belly,  yet  it  is  scarcely  the  pant  of  good  manners  to  throw 
one's  belly  continually  into  one's  teeth." 


THE   SANTEE   CAMP.  415 

"  Oh,  that's  it,f  said  the  other ;  "  well,  now  don't  be  skittish, 
mister,  for  though  I  am  Roaring  Dick,  I  never  roars  at  any  of  our 
own  boys,  and  I  likes  always  to  be  civil  to  strangers.  But  it's 
always  the  way  with  us,  when  we  don't  know  a  man's  name,  to 
call  him  after  that  part  that  looks  the  best  about  him.  There's 
Tom  Hazard  now,  we  calls  him  by  no  other  name  than  Nosey ; 
'cause,  you  see,  his  nose  is  the  most  rumbunctious  part  that -he's 
got,  and  it's  a'most  the  only  part  you  see  when  you  first  look  on 
him.  Then  there's  Bill  Bronson — as  stout  a  lark  as  you've  seed 
for  many  a  day — now,  as  he's  blind  of  one  eye  and  can  hardly  see 
out  o'  t'other,  we  calls  him  Blinky  Bill,  and  he  never  gets  his  back 
up,  though  he's  a  main  quick  hand  if  you  poke  fun  at  him.  So, 
stranger,  you  must  not  mind  when  we  happen  to  call  you  after  the 
most  respectable  part." 

"  Respectable  part !  I  forgive  you,  my  friend — you're  a  man  of 
sense.  Dr.  Oakenburg,  your  d — d  hatchet  hip  is  digging  into  my 
side  ;  can't  you  move  a  jot  farther  ?  There,  that  will  do  ;  I  am  not 
desirous  of  suffering  martyrdom  by  hip  and  thigh." 

"  Now  we're  most  home,"  said  Master  Roaring  Dick  to  his  little 
crew.  "  One  more  twirl  in  the  creek,  and  you'll  see  the  lights  and 
the  island ;  there,  there  it  is.  Look,  now,  stranger,  look  for  your 
self,  where  the  Swamp  Fox  hides  in  the  daylight,  to  travel  abroad 
with*  old  blear-eye — the  owl  that  is — when  the  round  moon  gets 
out  of  her  roost." 

And  very  picturesque  and  imposing,  indeed,  was  the  scene  that 
now  opened  upon  Porgy  and  the  rest,  as  they  swept  round  the  little 
bend  in  the  waters  of  the  creek,  and  the  deeply  embowered  camp  of 
the  partisan  lay  before  them.  Twenty  different  fires,  blazing  in  all 
quarters  of  the  island,  illuminated  it  with  a  splendour  which  no  palace 
pomp  could  emulate.  The  thick  forest  walls  that  girdled  them  in 
were  unpierced  by  their  rays ;  the  woods  were  too  impenetrably  dense 
even  for  their  splendours ;  and,  like  so  many  huge  and  blazing  pil 
lars,  the  larger  trees  seemed  to  crowd  forward  into  the  light  with  a 
solitary  stare  that  made  solemn  the  entire  and  wonderful  beauty  of 
the  scene.  Group  after  group  of  persons,  each  busy  to  itself,  ga 
thered  around  the  distinct  fires;  while  horses  neighed  under  conve 
nient  trees;  saddles  and  bridles,  sabres  and  blankets,  hung  from 


416  THE    PARTISAN. 

their  branches,  and  the  cheery  song,  from  little  parties  more  remote, 
made  lively  the  deep  seclusion  of  that  warlike  abiding-place. 

The  little  boat  floated  fairly  up  to  one  of  the  fires  ;  a  dozen  busy 
hands  at  once  assisted  the  new  comers  to  alight,  and  a  merry  greet 
ing  hailed  the  acquisition  of  countrymen  and  comrades.  Boat  after 
boat,  in  the  same  way,  pressed  up  to  the  landing,  and  all  in  turn 
were  assisted  by  friendly  hands,  and  saluted  with  cheering  words 
and  encouragement.  It  was  not  long  before  the  strangers,  with  the 
readiness  which  belongs  to  the  life  of  the  partisan,  chose  tlieir  com 
panions  in  mess  and  adventure,  and  began  to  adapt  themselves  to 
one  another.  Lively  chat,  the  hearty  glee,  the  uncouth  but  plea 
sant  jest,  not  forgetting  the  plentiful  supper,  enlivened  the  first  three 
hours  after  the  arrival  of  Singleton's  recruits,  and  fitted  them  gene 
rally  for  those  slumbers  to  which  they  now  prepared  to  hasten. 

"  Well,  Tom,"  said  Porgy  to  his  old  retainer,  as  he  hurried  to 
his  tree,  from  a  log,  around  which  his  evening's  meal  had  been 
eaten  in  company  with  Roaring  Dick,  Oakenburg,  and  one  or  two 
others — "  well,  Tom,  considering  how  d — d  badly  those  perch  were 
fried,  I  must  confess  I  enjoyed  them.  But  I  was  too  hungry  tc 
discriminate  ;  and  I  should  have  tolerated  much  worse  stuff  than 
that.  But  we  must  take  care  of  this,  Tom,  in  future.  It  is  not 
always  that  hunger  helps  us  to  sauce,  and  such  spice  is  always  a 
monstrous  bad  substitute  for  cayenne  and  thyme.  How  about  the 
dog,  Tom  ?" 

"  J  cut  he  tail,  maussa,  as  you  bin  tell  me." 

"  Well,  how  did  he  like  the  operation  ?" 

"  He  bleed  bad.  He  no  like  'em  'tall.  I  don't  tink  he  can  ebber 
run  like  he  been  run  before." 

"  Poh !  poh  !  I've  no  doubt  he'll  run  a  thousand  times  better  for 
it,  besides  being  able  to  carry  his  head  more  genteelly.  He'll  be  a 
little  sore  for  a  few  days,  but  a  sore  tail  is  a  cure  for  a  sore  head, 
Tom ;  as  an  ulcer  is  a  relief  to  a  troubled  liver.  Let  me  see  the 
dog  in  the  morning.  You  left  him  but  an  inch,  Tom  ?" 

"  Jis'  about,  maussa." 

"  Well,  only  tie  a  pine-burr  under  the  stump,  and  that  inch  will 
stand  out  with  proper  dignity.  Did  you  sear  the  wound  with  a  hot 
iron,  boy  ?" 


A  BLANKET.  417 

"  .Tis'  as  you  tell  me,  maussa.  A'terward,  I  put  some  pine-gum  on 
de  cut" 

"  No  use,  Tom  ;  but  no  man  is  quite  free  from  quackery  of  some 
sort,  and  where  water  is  a  good  wash  of  itself,  the  fool  fancies  it  still 
needs  salting.  Make  yourself  clean  to-night  in  the  Santee,  Tom, 
before  you  sleep,  and  '  Slink'  needs  a  dipping  also.  Take  him  with 
you.  Here, — help  me  oft'  with  this  coat." 

With  Tom's  assistance,  the  man  of  girth  proceeded  to  strip  for 
the  night.  He  was  helped  out  of  his  coat,  the  dimensions  of  which 
seemed  daily  more  and  more  to  contract ;  and  after  certain  exami 
nations  of  his  belt,  which  needed  to  have  a  few  extra  holes  opened, 
to  admit  of  freer  use,  Porgy  prepared  to  lie  down  for  the  night ; 
when  the  examination  of  the  place  assigned  for  his  repose  aroused 
his  discontent  anew. 

"  This  will  never  do,  Tom.  The  bed  is  as  hard  as  a  bed  of  ra 
coon  oysters.  You  must  get  me  a  good  arinfull  or  two  of  rushes 
and  pine  straw,  though  you  rob  some  other  man's  sleeping  quar 
ters  for  it.  Stay  !  What  is  that  hanging  from  yonder  beech  ? 
Isn't  it — bless  my  soul,  Tom, — isn't  it  a  blanket  ?" 

"  Da  blanket  for  true,  maussa.  'Spec'  (expect)  he  b'long  to  some 
body." 

"  Very  likely,  Tom;  but  God  knows  I'm  somebody — I  have  some 
body,  at  least,  to  take  care  of  and  provide  for  :  so  bring  it  hither. 
It  shall  help  to  smoothe  the  rough  places  among  these  roots.'' 

The  blanket  was  brought,  Tom  remarking,  as  he  spread  it  accord 
ing  to  the  directions  of  his  master — 

"  Ha !  de  man  wha'  claim  dis  blanket  will  sai  tin  to  be  feel  'bout 
vou  to-night,  maussa  !" 

"  Will  he,  then  ?  Well,  you  may  let  the  whole  swamp  know 
that  I  sleep  with  sword  and  pistols,  and,  if  waked  too  suddenly,  that 
I  am  sure  to  use  them.  Do  you  hear  ?  Hut  you  needn't  roar 
about,  you  rascal,  of  what  materials  my  bed  is  made  ?" 

Tom  chuckled,  while  the  epicure  rolled  himself  up  in  the  bor 
rowed  blanket,  and  in  such  a  way  as  to  leave  no  ends  free  to  med 
dling  fingers.  Ilis  saddle  formed  his  pillow,  and  all  things  adjusted 
to  his  satisfaction,  he  bade  the  negro  take  himself  off,  and,  take  care 
of  himself.  Ten  minutes  had  not  elapsed  when  the  proprietor  of 


418  THE   PARTISAN. 

the  blanket  came  to  look  after  his  property,  Porgy  had  already 
oecome  an  old  soldier.  Never  did  nose  insis*  more  sonorously  upon 
its  owner's  slumbers  than  his.  The  intruder  looked  upon  the  appa 
rently  sleeping  man,  and  saw  how  comfortably  he  was  enveloped. 
In  the  dim  light  of  the  camp-fires,  he  fancied  the  blanket  bore  a 
resemblance  to  his  own ;  but  our  epicure  lay  in  it,  calm,  assured, 
confident,  as  if  he  were  the  real  proprietor.  The  man  doubted — 
retired,  plucked  a  brand  from  the  fire,  and  waved  it  over  the 
figure  of  the  sleeper.  Meanwhile,  the  hilt  of  our  lieutenant's  sabre, 
and  the  muzzles  of  his  big  horseman's  pistols,  had  been  made  to  pro 
trude  from  the  covering,  convenient  to  his  gripe.  The  stranger 
was  duly  cautioned.  Still  he  looked  and  lingered.  Porgy's  nose, 
at  this  moment,  sent  forth  an  emphatic  and  prolonged  snore.  The 
man  began  to  meditate.  The  night  was  tolerably  warm  and  plea 
sant.  He  really  did  not  know  that  he  should  need  the  blanket,  to 
which  he  yet  felt  ready  to  make  oath.  No  doubt  the  usurper  of 
his  goods  had  only  made  a  slight  mistake.  There  is  something 
cruel  in  disturbing  a  man  in  a  profound  sleep  after  a  long  journey, 
only  to  correct  a  mistake  ;  and  so  the  good-natured  proprietor  of 
the  stolen  goods  resolved  to  forego  his  claim,  for  the  night  at  least ; 
and  retired  quietly,  to  the  great  relief  of  our  cunning  epicure. 
Scarcely  had  he  gone  from  sight,  when  Tom  heaved  himself  up 
from  the  opposite  side  of  the  tree,  and,  with  a  chuckle,  cried  out — 
"  Hah  !  maussa,  you  snore  de  man  out  o'  he  blanket  dis  time." 
"  Ah  !  rascal,  are  you  watching  me  ?"  answered  Porgy,  in  good- 
humoured  accents.  "  Well,  remember  to  restore  the  blanket  to  the 
fellow  in  the  morning,  and  give  him,  with  my  compliments,  a  sup 
of  the  Jamaica.  He  has  the  bowels  of  a  Christian,  and  will  relish 
it.  Meanwhile,  Tom,  let  this  be  a  lesson  for  you.  Always  fall 
asleep  when  the  lion's  in  your  path.  When  your  conscience  don't 
feel  easy,  make  your  body  easy.  And  now,  begone,  for  I  must  do 
tome  real  sleeping,  if  '.  can." 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

"  "Tit  tome  time  yet, 

To  the  g  rey  dawning  ;  but  we  move  betimes, 
And  our  Impatience  ushers  in  the  day." 

THE  stars  were  yet  shining,  when  the  slumbers  of  Major  Single 
ton  were  broken.  His  page,  Frampton,  stood  beside  him,  where 
he  slept  in  the  shadows  of  the  greenwood  tree,  his  hand  gently  laid 
upon  his  shoulder. 

"  How  now,  Lance  ;  what's  stirring  ?     What  disturbs  you  ?" 

Such  was  the  demand  of  Singleton  as  he  started  into  conscious 
ness.  But  he  needed  no  answer  to  his  own  question.  His  senses, 
completely  awakened,  took  in  sounds  of  stir  from  every  side.  The 
partisans  were  stirring  all  about,  rousing  from  sluggish  dreams, 
nnd  filling  the  woods  with  bustle ;  and  the  shrill  voice  of  Marion 
himself,  a  few  rods  distant,  brief  and  emphatic,  was  heard  in  accents 
of  command.  The  Swamp  Fox  suffered  nobody  to  surprise  his 
people  but  himself.  But  he  beat  up  their  slumbers  frequently 
enough.  He  was  preparing  for  one  of  his  rapid  movements.  His 
policy  was — here  to-day — to-morrow  where  ?  on  the  wing, — not  to 
be  traced,  not  to  be  pursued ;  not  found  by  his  enemies,  except  at 
moments  when  his  presence  was  not  wanting,  and  far  less  than 
grateful.  Singleton  soon  comprehended  what  lay  before  the  bri 
gade,  and  was  on  his  feet  and  in  armour  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye.  Lance  Framptou  already  had  his  horse  in  readiness. 
Meanwhile,  the  buzz  of  preparation  everywhere  went  on.  Horses 
were  heard  approaching  from  the  upper  edge  of  the  swamp  ;  below 
other  steeds  were  in  motion  also.  Above  all  other  sounds,  wild, 
shrill,  and  sudden,  came  the  quick,  significant  whistles  of  the  scout* 
coming  in.  The  bugle  sounded  soon  after  and  Singleton  hastened 
to  join  his  commander. 

"  You  are  prompt,  major,  and  as  I  would  have  it,"  said   Marion 


420  THE  PARTISAN. 

as  he  rode  up.  "Make  your  own  men  ready — stlfl  keep  their 
command,  till  our  disposition  may  be  made  more  uniform — and 
put  them  into  a  column  of  advance.  Horry  is  just  coming  in  with 
his  troop,  from  which  you;-  lead  will  be  taken.  Our  scouts  are  all 
in,  and  one  brings  me  a  courier  with  news  from  the  army.  De 
Kalb  id  now  on  the  way,  in  rapid  march  from  Salisbury,  with  two 
thousand  continentals ;  Colonel  Porterfield,  with  Virginia  horse,  is 
moving  to  join  him  ;  and  General  Caswell,  with  the  North  Carolina 
militia  in  force,  arming  for  the  same  object.  Though  better  pro 
vided  than  ourselves,  as  well  in  arras  as  in  numbers,  we  must  not 
hesitate  to  show  ourselves  among  them.  General  Gates  will  doubt 
less  bring  a  force  with  him  ;  and  it  will  be  hard,  if  our  boys,  ragged 
though  they  be,  should  not  win  some  laurels  and  blankets 
together." 

Alas!  for  these  fond  estimates — these  famous  promises  of  Con 
gress  and  continental  generals.  De  Kalb's  force  consisted  of  only 
one,  instead  of  tivo  thousand  regulars,  and  Gates  joined  his  com 
mand  without  bringing  any  accessions  of  force.  But  of  these 
details  hereafter.  The  present  movement  of  our  Swamp  Fox  was 
to  join  his  little  squadron  to  the  grand  army.  His  proceeding  was 
that  of  scores  of  partisan  leaders  besides,  each  of  whom  made  his 
little  contribution  of  militia-men,  swelling  the  nominal  strength  of 
the  conqueror  of  Burgoyne  with  additions  which,  in  their  unfed, 
untrained,  unarmed,  and  naked  condition,  added  little  to  his  real 
capacity  for  action.  One  of  Marion's  best  military  virtues  was 
celerity.  He  roused  his  people  with  the  view  to  a  timely  junction 
with  the  continentals,  while  yet  they  were  on  the  march,  and  within 
the  limits  of  North  Carolina.  He  had  a  wild  region  to  traverse 
before  he  could  attain  this  junction,  and  every  league  of  ground 
was  in  the  possession  of  certain  enemies  or  very  doubtful  friends. 
To  work  his  way  through  these,  demanded  all  his  caution,  and 
required  that  he  should  lose  no  time.  As  soon,  therefore,  as  his 
advices  brought  him  positive  intelligence  of  De  Kalb's  progress,  he 
set  his  troop  in  motion.  He  had  no  reserves  with  Singleton,  and 
readily  told  him  all  that  he  had  need  to  hear.  Our  hero  soon 
set  his  own  little  command  in  motion,  and  was  as  promptly 
on  the  ground  as  any  of  the  rest.  But  we  must  not  so  summarily 


PORGY   DISTURBED.  421 

dismiss  from  notice  the  routing  up  of  certain  of  our  dramatis  per- 
sonas. 

Porgy  had  slept,  and  still  slept,  with  the  profound  wisdom  of  a 
soldier,  who  will  always  secure  every  opportunity  for  the  performance 
of  this  duty.  Porgy  valued  sleep  too  well  to  abridge  its  enjoyment 
unnecessarily.  Whenever  this  necessity  occurred  iu  his  case,  it 
impaired  the  serenity  of  his  temper.  Now,  his  colleague,  Lieutenant 
tlurnphries,  had  kindly  dispatched  a  sergeant  to  awaken  his  brother 
officer.  The  sergeant  was  a  rough,  untutored  forester,  who  usually 
adopted  the  most  effectual  processes  for  effecting  his  object.  In 
the  present  case,  he  had  seized  forcibly  upon  the  ends  of  the 
blanket  in  which  our  epicure  was  still  comfortably  wrapped,  and 
had  hauled  away  with  the  energies  of  a  person  whose  muscles  were 
perpetually  claiming  to  be  employed.  Under  his  very  decided 
action,  one  of  Porgy's  arms  was  nearly  twisted  from  its  socket,  and 
one  of  his  legs  was  dragged  out  from  beneath  the  covering,  tossed 
over  its  fellow,  and  let  to  fall  with  an  emphasis  which  effectually 
tested  the  sensibilities  of  the  other  member.  Porgy  opened  his  eyes 
in  the  dim  light  of  the  morning  star,  with  a  soul  full  of  indignation. 

"  It  is  scarcely  civil,  young  man,"  he  cried,  endeavouring  to 
unwrap  himself  from  the  thrice  twisted  folds  of  blanket  in  which 
he  slept — his  anger  increasing  with  the  increasing  difficulties  of  the 
effort.  "  Scarcely  civil,  young  man,  I  repeat !  What  if  the  blanket 
is  your  property" — the  idea  of  its  adroit  appropriation  by  himself, 
the  night  before,  still  running  in  his  head — "  suppose  it  true,  1 
say,  that  the  blanket  is  your  property,  is  this  the  way  to  seek  foi 
it?  I  have  never  denied  it,  sirrah,  and  a  polite  demand  for  it  would 
have  at  once  obtained  it.  But  to  disturb,  in  this  rude  and  insolent 
manner,  the  repose  of  a  gentleman  !  It's  a  foul  offence — an  offence 
which  shall  have  its  punishment,  by  Hercules,  or  I'm  not  the  man 
to  thresh  an  impertinent.  Let  me  but  unwrap.  I'm  a  pacific 
man.  My  temper  is  not  harsh,  not  irritable.  I'm  slow  to  take 
offence.  I'm  of  forgiving  nature.  But  there  are  some  things 
which  mortal  patience  cannot  bear,  and  which,  by  Jupiter,  I  will 
not  bear.  To  disturb  one's  slumbers,  which  are  so  absolutely  essen 
tial  to  the  digestive  functions  of  a  large  man,  is  an  offence  not  to 
be  forgiven." 

18* 


422  THE    PARTISAN. 

By  this  time  he  had  extricated  himself  from  his  wrappings,  and 
stood  erect.  What  would  have  been  his  next  proceeding,  it  would 
be  difficult  to  say.  The  sergeant,  who  aroused  him,  was  evidently 
bewildered  by  his  evident  indignation.  Porgy  advanced  upon  him, 
and  with  sabre  in  hand,  though  scabbarded,  he  would,  in  all  pro 
bability,  have  laid  it  heavily  on  the  shoulders  of  the  offender, 
but  for  the  happy  interposition  of  Humphries,  who  now  showed 
himself. 

"  What's  the  trouble,  lieutenant  ?"  demanded  this  third  party. 
"  What  vexes  you  2" 

"  This  rascal — I  but  wrapt  myself  in  a  strange  blanket,  which,  I 
suppose,  belongs  to  the  brute — I  say  this  rascal  has  been  pulling  me 
to  pieces,  dislocating  my  legs  and  shoulders,  and  depriving  me  of  a 
glorious  morning  nap,  and  a  most  delicious  dream  ;  and  all  because 
of  his  d — d  blanket." 

"  Pshaw,  that's  a  mistake  ;  I  sent  the  sergeant  to  wake  you." 

"  You  did  !  and  why  the  devil  did  you  take  an  improper  liberty, 
I  pray  ?" 

.  "  Why,  man,  don't  you  hear  the  bugles — don't  you  see  all  the 
camp  in  motion  !  Don't  you  know  that  the  Swamp  Fox  is  for  an 
early  start,  before  daylight  ?  It  was  a  kindness,  lieutenant,  to  have 
you  wakened  in  season." 

"  It  was  d — d  unkindly  done.  Hark  you,  my  good  fellow," — to 
the  sergeant — "  remember,  hereafter,  when  you  waken  a  gentleman, 
that  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  pull  him  to  pieces  to  effect  your 
object.  I  forgive  you  this  time,  as  you  meant  well ;  but  see  that 
you  sin  no  more  in  the  same  manner.  You  were,  no  doubt,  a 
blacksmith  before  you  became  a  soldier.  Forget  your  old  vocation 
hereafter  when  you  deal  with  me.  If  you  seek  to  make  a  vice  of 
your  fingers,  you  will  find  something  more  than  vicious  at  the  eud 
of  mine !" 

The  sergeant  moved  off  much  wondering. 

"Now,  bestir  yourself,  lieutenant,  and  get  yourself  in  harness," 
quoth  Humphries. 

"Take  that  fiery  faggot  from  my  eyes,  Humphries,  unless  you 
wish  to  blind  me  eternally.  What  blasted  folly  is  this  of  moving 
daily  and  loading  the  troops  with  such  an  infinity  of  broken 


KEEP   COOL.  428 

shimbers  !     Are  you  dreaming,  or  I  ?     Do  you  really  mean  that  we 
are  to  leave  the  swamp  ?" 

"  Even  so." 

"  Why,  we  have  just  got  into  it  I  haven't  seen  it  fairly,  and 
know  nothing  of  its  qualities.  Major  Singleton  assured  me  that  it 
was  boundless  in  its  treasures  of  fish,  flesh,  and  felicity.  He  spoke 
of  its  terrapin  as  superb.  To  leave  it  without  tasting !  This  is 
shocking.  I  had  hoped  to  have  had  a  rest  here  of  a  few  days  to 
have  compared  its  products  with  those  of  the  cypress." 

"  You're  to  be  disappointed,  nevertheless.  I'm  sorry  for  your 
sake,  old  fellow,  that  it  is  so  !  But  the  major's  orders  are  to  breeze 
up  as  fast  as  possible.  You  mustn't  delay  now  for  trifles." 

"  What  do  you  call  trifles  ?  Life,  and  that  which  feeds  it,  are 
no  trifles.  The  tastes  which  enter  into  the  dressing  of  food  are 
among  the  best  essentials  of  life.  Who  presumes  to  call  them 
trifles  ?  I  trust,  Lieutenant  Humphries,  that  it  is  you  who  are  the 
trifler  now.  There  is  surely  no  movement  now  on  foot  ?" 

"  As  sure  as  I'm  a  sinner,  it's  truth ;  and  you  must  stir  up.  Let 
me  help  to  brace  you.  The  major's  on  horse  a'ready.  The  Swamp 
Fox,  as  the  people  here  call  Marion,  has  been  about  and  busy  this 
hour.  Look  at  him  yonder — he  that  has  his  cap  off — standing 
where  those  dragoons  are  in  the  saddle.  He's  talking  to  the  men, 
and  they  say  he  talks  seldom,  but  short  and  strong ;  and  we  ought 
to  be  there  to  hear  him.  Hurry  yourself  a  bit  now,  or  we  shaL 
lose  it  all." 

"  There's  no  policy  so  vicious.  Never  hurry,  John  Humphries. 
Keep  cool,  keep  cool,  keep  cool !  These  are  the  three  great  pre 
cepts  for  happiness.  Life  is  to  be  hoarded,  not  to  be  hurried.  Hap 
piness  is  found  only  in  grains  and  fractions,  and  he  who  hurries 
finds  none.  It  is  with  pleasure,  as  with  money-making — according 
to  that  cunning  old  Pennsylvania  printer — take  care  of  the  pence, 
and  the  pounds  will  take  care  of  themselves.  Take  care  of  the 
moments,  and  you  need  never  look  after  the  hours.  That's  my  doc 
trine  for  happiness — that  is  the  grand  secret.  Hurry  foibids  all 
this.  You  skip  moments — you  skip  happiness.  Why  do  you  sip 
rum  punch  ?  Why,  indeed,  do  you  sip  all  goodly  stomachics  ? — 
uimply  to  prolong  the  feeling  of  enjoyment.  It  is  your  beast  only 


424  THE   PARTISAN. 

that  gulps,  and  gapes,  and  swallows.     It  is  ouly  your  beast  that 
harries.     Happiness  is  not  for  such." 

"  But  we  must  hurry  now,  Porgy,  if  we  want  to  hear  what  he 


"  I  never  hurried  for  my  father,  though  he  looked  for  me  hourly 
I  will  not  hurry  for  the  best  speech  ever  delivered.  Do  oblige  me 
with  that  belt ;  and  lay  clown  your  torch,  my  good  fellow,  and  pass 
the  strap  through  the  buckle  for  me.  There — not  so  tight,  if  you 
please  ;  the  next  hole  in  the  strap  will  answer  now  ;  an  hour's  rid 
ing  will  enable  me  to  take  in  the  other,  and  then  I  shall  probably 
try  your  assistance.  Eh  !  what's  that  ?" 

The  pitiful  howling  of  a  negro,  aroused  from  his  slumbers  pre 
maturely  by  the  application  of  an  irreverent  foot  to  his  ribs,  now 
called  forcibly  the  attention  of  the  party,  and  more  particularly 
that  of  Porgy. 

"  That's  Tom's  voice — I'll  swear  to  it  among  a  thousand  ;  and 
somebody's  boating  him !  I'll  not  suffer  that."  And  with  the 
words  he  moved  rather  rapidly  away  towards  the  spot  whence  the 
noise  proceeded. 

"  Don't  be  in  a  hurry  now,  Porgy  ;  remember — keep  cool,  keep 
cool,  keep  cool,"  cried  Humphries,  as  he  followed  slowly  after  the 
now  hurrying  philosopher. 

"  Do  I  not,  Humphries  ?  I  am  not  only  cool  myself,  but  I  go 
with  the  charitable  purpose  of  cooling  another." 

"  But  what's  the  harm  ? — he's  only  kicking  Woolly-head  into 
his  senses." 

"  Nobody  shall  kick  Tom  while  I'm  alive.  The  fellow's  too  valu 
able  for  blows ; — boils  the  best  rice  in  the  southern  country,  and 
hasn't  his  match,  with  my  counsel,  at  terrapin  in  all  Dorchester. 
Holla !  there,  my  friend,  let  the  negro  alone,  or  I'll  astonish  you." 

The  soldier  and  Tom,  alike,  became  apparent  the  next  moment, 
the  former  still  administering  a  salutary  kick  and  cuff  to  the  growl 
ing  and  -grumbling  negro.  Porgy  soon  grappled  the  assailant  by  tha 
collar,  and  shook  him  violently.  The  latter,  taken  by  surprise,  and 
seemingly  in  great  astonishment,  demanded  the  cause  of  this  assault. 
He  was  one  of  that  class,  some  of  whom  are  still  to  be  found  in  f.he 
country,  who,  owning  no  slaves,  are  very  apt  to  delight  in  the  abus* 


SLINK'S  DISCRIMINATION.  426 

of  those  of  other   people.     Porgy  had    his  answer  in  his  usual 
fashion. 

"  That's  the  cause,  my  good  fellow ;  that's  the  cause," — pointing 
to  the  negro, — "  an  argument  that  runs  upon  two  legs,  and  upon 
which  no  two  legs  in  camp  shall  trample." 

"Da's  right,  maussa,"  growled  Tom,  indignantly.  "  \Vha'  for  he 
kick  nigga,  what's  doing  not'ing  but  sleep  ?  Ax  urn  dat,  maussa." 

The  soldier  grew  ruffled,  in  spite  of  Porgy's  uniform,  and  answeix-u 
savagely — 

"  His  dog  stole  my  bacon,  cappin,  and  when  I  chunked  the  var 
inent,  the  nigga  gin  me  sass.  He's  a  sassy  fellow.'* 

"  Ah  !  he's  a  saucy  fellow,  is  he  ?  That  may  be,  but  I'll  let  you 
know  that  I'm  the  only  one  to  take  the  sauce  out  of  him.  As  for 
the  dog — so,  Tom,  your  dog  stole  this  man's  bacon  ?" 

"  He  say  so,  maussa,  but  I  am't  sh'  urn  (see  urn).  De  dog  hab 
shinboue,  but  how  I  know  whey  he  git  um?  Slink  never  tief  we 
bacon,  maussa." 

"  Ah  ha  !  Slink  never  steals  our  bacon,  you  say  ?  That  shows  him 
to  be  a  dog  of  discrimination — that  knows  where  his  bread  is  but 
tered — what  we  can't  often  say  for  wiser  animals.  But  did  he  ever 
steal  bacon  before  to  your  knowledge,  Tom  ?" 

"  Nebber,  maussa." 

"  Then,  Tom,  it's  all  owing  to  that  cutting  off  his  tail.  You  see  he 
plucks  up  spirit,  you  rascal ;  for  a  certain  amount  of  spirit  is  neces 
sary  to  a  thief.  His  enterprise  grows  the  moment  that  you  take 
off  the  miserable  appendage  that  kept  down  his  spirit.  The  only 
misfortune  is,  that  in  exercising  his  new  quality,  he  has  not  been 
(rained  to  distinguish  between  the  meum  and  tuum.  Now,  that's 
your  fault,  Tom." 

"  Wha'  you  mean  by  meum  and  tuum,  maussa  ?" 

"  Well,  Tom,  as  far  as  concerns  us,  who  have  no  goods  to  lose, 
the  distinction  is  not  of  much  moment ;  but  the  lesson  is  not  the 
less  valuable  for  Slink  to  learn,  in  a  camp  where  other  people  pos 
sess  ham  bones,  in  which  they  claim  special  rights.  See  to  it, 
hereafter.  As  for  you,  my  good  fellow,  you  must  see  that  the  dog 
had  no  felonious  intentions.  The  animus  makes  the  offence.  He 
did  not  steal — he  simply  appropriated.  Do  not  suffer  yourself,  my 


4:26  THE   PARTISAN. 

friend,  to  indulge  again  in  the  defamation  of  character.  The  rising 
spirit  of  the  dog  must  not  be  kept  down  because  you  have  a  shin- 
bone  of  ham.  Do  you  hear  that !  And  further,  let  me  tell  you, 
that  any  second  attempt  to  kick  that  fellow — who  is  decidedly  the 
best  cook  in  the  Southern  army — will  subject  you  to  the  chance 
of  being  kicked  in  turn.  As  it  is,  I  let  you  off  this  time,  with  a 
simple  shaking." 

The  soldier  grew  savage  and  insolent.  He  was  tall  and  vigorous  ; 
did  not  seem  to  regard  the  epicure's  epaulet  with  any  great  degree 
of  veneration  ;  and,  as  he  replied  with  defiance,  Porgy  again  took 
hold  of  his  collar.  The  affair  might  have  ended  in  the  soldier's 
tumbling  our  fat  friend  upon  his  back,  but  for  the  timely  approach 
of  Singleton  on  horseback,  at  sight  of  whom  the  soldier  stole  away, 
pocketing  his  hurts  of  self-esteem  for  a  more  advantageous  occa 
sion. 

"  To  saddle,  Mr.  Porgy,  to  saddle,"  was  the .  command  of  Single 
ton.  "  Be  ready,  sir,  for  a  movement  in  five  minutes.  The  Colonel 
has  already  given  orders  for  a  start,  and  I  would  not  that  any  of  my 
command  should  occasion  a  moment's  delay." 

"  Nor  I,  Major  Singleton — nor  I.  Honourable  emulation  is  the 
soldier's  virtue,  and  though  I  would  never  hurry,  sir,  yet  I  would 
never  be  a  laggard.  The  golden  medium,  major,  between  hurry 
and  apathy,  is  still  to  be  insisted  upon.  It  is  a  principle,  sir,  which 
I  approve.  But  haste,  sir,  hurry,  is  my  horror.  Slumbers  once 
broken — visions  rudely  intruded  upon — seldom  return  to  us  in  their 
original  felicity.  Here  have  I  had  my  sleep  torn  in  twain,  as  I  may 
oay,  just  when  the  web  of  it  had  become  precious  to  body  and  soul. 
Just  as  the  one  was  at  perfect  repose,  after  a  toilsome  march,  and 
just  as  the  other  had  become  refreshed  with  a  dream  of  delights 
v-hich  almost  compensated  for  an  empty  stomach." 

"  It  is  a  hard  case,"  was  the  reply  of  Singleton,  who  knew  the 
humours  of  our  friend,  "  but  you  must  allow  for  circumstances. 
Perilous  necessity  is  a  despotism,  Mr.  Porgy,  to  which  it  is  only 
wisdom  to  submit  with  as  much  resignation  as  we  may.  Necessity 
overrules  all  laws,  as  well  of  stomach  as  of  soul." 

"  A  manifest  truism,  Major  Singleton  ;  and  in  its  recognition,  I 
will  even  hasten  to  obey  cur  present  orders.  But  you  err,  major. 


DETERMINATION.  427 

in  speaking  of  soul  and  stomach  as  independent  organizations.  Be 
assured,  sir,  the  relation  between  them  is  much  more  near  than  is 
vulgarly  supposed.  For  my  part,  I  would  riot  give  a  sixpence  for 
any  human  soul  without  a  stomach." 

Singleton  waited  to  hear  no  more,  but  putting  spurs  to  his  horse, 
repeated  his  request  that  Porgy  should  follow  soon.  The  latter 
turned  to  Tom. 

"  So,  Tom,  that  fellow  has  bloodied  your  nose.  There  is  an  ugly 
abrasion  of  your  left  nostril." 

"  He  fed  so,  maussa.  He  feel  berry  much  as  ef  he  been  breck 
(break — for  broken)." 

"Pon  my  soul,  you're  right.  The  bridge  is  broken.  It  was 
ugly  enough  before  ;  it  is  scarcely  passable  now.  You  are  disfi 
gured  for  ever,  boy.  Fortunately,  the  nose,  however  essential  to  the 
lungs,  is  hardly  of  importance  to  the  genius.  You  are  no  doubt 
as  good  a  cook  as  ever.  Were  it  likely  to  aft'ect  your  skill  in  that 
department,  I  should  deem  it  a  duty  to  have  that  soldier  up  at  the 
halyards.  Well !  I  don't  see  what  we  can  do  for  it.  Wash  it  as 
often  as  you  can.  Meanwhile,  tighten  that  girth,  and  bring  up  the 
horse.  Lead  him  to  that  stump.  One's  own  girth  is  greatly  in 
the  way  of  his  steed's.  By  the  way,  Tom,  you're  sure  that  Slink 
has  not  made  oft'  with  our  ham  as  well  as  the  soldier's.  If  he  has, 
he's  a  dead  d<»g  from  this  moment.  You  have  it  in  the  buckskin 
safely  ?  We  shall  need  it  to-morrow,  old  fellow,  for  our  hard  riding 
promises  nothing  better." 

Tom's  assurances  in  respect  to  the  ham-bone  and  Slink's  fidelity, 
were, promptly  given,  and,  talking  to  himself  or  others  as  he  rode, 
Porgy  soon  joined  himself  to  his  command,  where  he  found  the 
several  squads  of  the  partisans  already  assembled,  prepared  to  see 
and  heai  "  The  Swamp  Fox,"  whom  many  of  them  were  now  to 
behold  for  the  first  time. 

Under  that  forest  canopy,  in  the  cold  light  of  the  morning  stars, 
now  rapidly  paling  in  the  west, — amid  waving  torches  and  pran 
cing  steeds — Marion  unfolded  his  plan,  and  briefly  informed  his  men 
of  the  condition  of  things,  not  only  as  they  affected  the  colony,  but 
as  they  concerned  the  confederation.  He  read  to  them  a  resolve 
of  Congress,  in  which  that  body  had  declared  its  determination  to 


428  THE    PARTISAN. 

sav<;  each  and  every  province  that  had  linked  its  fortunes  with  the 
federal  union  ;  particular^'  declaring  its  resolution,  in  the  teeth  of 
a  report  to  this  effect,  which  the  British  and  tories  had  industri 
ously  circulated  in  South  Carolina  and  Georgia,  not  to  sacrifice 
these  two  colonies  to  the  invader,  on  any  terms  of  peace  or  com 
promise  which  they  might  make  with  him.  Such  a  resolve  ha^ 
become  highly  necessary  ;  as  the  great  currency  given  to  the  ru 
mour  of  such  a  compromise,  and  on  these  especial  terms,  had  pro 
duced,  in  part,  the  results  which  had  been  desired  by  the  enemy 
The  patriots,  drooping  enough  before,  had  begun  to  despair  entirely 
while  the  tories  were  encouraged  to  perseverance,  and  stimulated  to 
the  most  adventurous  and  daring  action.  This  statement  read — 
and  the  formal  resolution  as  it  had  been  adopted  by  Congress  waa 
in  his  hand  for  the  purpose — Marion  then  proceeded  to  recapitulate, 
not  only  the  information  which  he  had  been  enabled  to  obtain  of 
their  own  army,  but  of  that  of  their  enemies.  His  information, 
gathered  from  various  sources,  was  comparatively  extensive ;  and 
while  it  taught  his  men  the  full  extent  of  the  danger  with  which 
they  were  to  contend  on  all  hands,  it  also  served  greatly  to  increase 
their  confidence  in  a  commander,  whose  knowledge  of  passing  and 
remote  events  seemed  intuitive  ;  and  whose  successes,  though  small, 
had  been  so  unbroken,  as  to  inspire  in  them  a  perfect  assurance  of 
his  invincibility. 

The  military  force  of  the  British  then  in  Carolina,  was  distributed 
judiciously  throughout  its  entire  circuit.  The  23d  and  33d 
regiments  of  infantry,  the  volunteers  of  Ireland,  the  infantry  of 
the  legion  (Tarleton's),  Brown's  and  Hamilton's  corps,  and  a  detach 
ment  of  artillery  under  the  command  of  Lord  Rawdon,  hutted  in 
and  about  the  town  of  Camden.  Major  McArthur  with  the  7lst 
regiment  was  stationed  at  Cheraw,  near  the  Peedee  region,  covering 
the  country  between  Camden  and  Georgetown,  and  holding  con 
tinued  correspondence  with  the  rank  and  thickly  settled  tory 
region  of  Cross  Creek,  North  Carolina.  With  the  approach  of 
the  continentals,  this  regiment  had  been  ordered  in,  to  a  junction 
with  himself,  by  Rawdon ;  and  they  left  the  passage  open  for 
Marion  through  the  country  \vhere  most  of  his  warfare  was  to  be 
carried  on.  In  Georgetown,  a  large  force  of  provincials  wai 


BRITISH   FORCE   IN    CAROLINA.  429 

stationed.  The  chain  of  British  military  posts,  to  the  west  of  Cam- 
den,  was  connected  with  Ninety-Six  by  Rocky  Mount,  itself  a  strong 
post  OP  the  Wateree,  occupied  by  Lieutenant-Colonel  Turnbull  of 
the  New  York  tory  volunteers  and  militia.  Lieutenant-Colonel  Bal- 
t'our,  and  subsequently  Lieutenant-Colonel  Cruger,  commanded  at 
Ninety-Six.  The  troops  there  consisted  of  battalions  of  DelaneyX 
Innis's,  and  Allen's  provincial  regiments,  with  the  16th  regiment 
and  three  companies  besides,  of  light  infantry.  Major  Ferguson's 
corps,  with  a  large  body  of  tory  militia,  traversed  the  country  be 
tween  the  Wateree  and  the  Saluda  rivers,  and  sometimes  stretched 
away  even  to  the  borders  of  North  Carolina.  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Brown  held  Augusta  with  a  large  force  of  British  and  tories ; 
Savannah  was  garrisoned  by  Hessians  and  provincials  under  Colonel 
Alured  Clark ;  Charleston  contained  the  7th,  63d,  and  64th  regi 
ments  of  infantry,  two  battalions  of  Hessians,  a  large  detachment  of 
the  royal  artillery,  and  several  corps  of  provincials  under  the  imme 
diate  command  of  Brigadier-General  Paterson.  The  legion  dragoons 
(Tarleton's)  were  employed  in  keeping  open  the4  communication 
between  the  several  cantonments.  In  addition  to  these,  there  were 
the  posts  of  Fort  Watson,  Biggins'  Church,  Dorchester,  and  many 
others,  which,  as  the  whole  colony  lay  at  the  feet  of  the  conquerors, 
were  maintained  with  small  bodies  of  men,  chiefly  as  posts  of  rest, 
and  not  likely  to  be  perilled  by  assaults  in  the  present  condition  of 
the  country. 

Having  narrated,  at  full,  the  amount  of  the  British  force  dis 
tributed  thus  throughout  the  colony,  Colonel  Marion  did  not  scruple 
to  present,  without  any  exaggeration,  a  true  picture  of  the  strength 
of  that  power  which  was  to  meet  and  contend  with  it.  He  painted 
to  them  the  depressed  condition  of  Congress,  the  difficulties  of 
Washington,  and  taught  them  how  little  was  to  be  looked  for,  in 
the  shape  of  succour  and  assistance,  apart  from  that  which  he 
insisted  was  in  their  own  hands — in  their  own  firm  determination, 
fearless  spirits,  and  always  ready  swords. 

"  I  take  up  the  sword,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  with  a  solemn  vow 
never  to  lay  it  down,  until  my  country,  as  a  free  country,  shall  no 
longer  need  my  services.  I  have  informed  myself  of  all  these  diffi 
culties  and  dangers — these  inequalities  of  numbers  and  experience 


430  THE   PARTISAN. 

between  us  and  our  enemies — of  which  I  have  plainly  told  you 
Having  them  all  before  my  own  eyes,  I  have  yet  resolved  to  live  o 
die  in  the  cause  of  my  country,  placing  the  risks  and  privations  ol 
tLe  war  in  full  opposition  to  the  honour  and  duty — the  one  whict 
I  may  gather  in  her  battles,  and  the  other  which  I  owe  to  her  in 
maintaining  them  to  the  last.  I  have  told  you  all  that  I  know,  in 
order  that  each  man  may  make  his  election  as  I  have  done.  1  will 
urge  no  reasons  why  you  should  love  and  fight,  for  your  country, 
as  my  own  sense  of  honour  and  shame  would  not  suffer  me  to 
listen  to  any  from  another  on  the  same  subject.  Determine  for 
yourselves  without  argument  from  me.  Let  each  man  answer, 
singly,  whether  he  will  go  forward  under  my  lead,  or  that  of  any 
other  officer  that  General  Gates  shall  assign,  or  whether  he  will 
now  depart  from  our  ranks,  choosing  a  station,  henceforward,  of 
neutrality,  if  such  will  be  allowed  him,  or  with  the  forces  of  our 
enemy.  Those  who  determine  with  me,  must  be  ready  to  depart 
within  the  hour,  on  the  route  to  Lynch's  creek,  and  to  the  con 
tinental  army." 

The  piercing  black  eye  of  Marion,  darting  around  the  assembly 
at  the  conclusion  of  his  speech,  seemed  to  look  deep  into  the 
bosom  of  each  soldier  in  his  presence.  There  was  but  a  moment's 
pause  when  he  had  concluded,  before  they  gave  a  unanimous  an 
swer.  Could  they  have  had  other  than  a  single  sentiment  on  such 
an  occasion  ?  They  had  not — and  no  one  voice  hesitated  in  the 
utterance  of  the  cheering,  soul-felt  response — 

"  We  will  all  go  ! — Marion  for  ever  !"  and  from  the  rear  came 
up  the  more  familiar  cry — 

"  Hurra  for  the  Swamp  Fox  ! — let  him  take  the  track,  and  we'll 
be  after  him." 

A  single  bow — a  slight  bend  of  the  body,  and  brief  inclination 
of  the  head — testified  their  leader's  acknowledgment ;  and,  after  a 
few  directions  to  Horry,  he  ordered  the  advance.  With  a  calm 
look  and  unchanging  position,  he  noted,  with  an  individual  and 
particulai  glance,  each  trooper  as  he  filed  past  him.  A  small 
select  guard  was  left  behind,  who  were  to  conduct  the  women  and 
children  to  the  friendly  whig  settlement  of  Williamsburg.  The 
partisans  were  to  follow,  after  this,  upon  a  prescribed  route,  and 


GOOD    SPEECH.  431 

meet  with  the  main  body  at  Lynch's  creek.  An  Lour  later,  and 
the  silence  of  the  grave  was  over  the  dim  island  in  the  swamp  of 
the  Santee,  so  lately  full  of  life  and  animation".  The  brands  were 
smoking,  but  no  longer  in  blaze;  and  the  wild-cat  might  be  seen 
growling  stealthily  round  the  encampment  which  they  had  left, 
looking  for  the  scraps  of  the  rustic  feast  partaken  at  their  last 
supper  by  its  recent  inmates. 

u  A  devilish  good  speech,"  said  Porgy  to  Humphries,  as  the 
latter  rode  beside  him,  a  little  after  leaving  the  island — "a  devilish 
good  speech,  and  spoken  like  a  gentleman.  No  big  words  about 
liberty  and  death,  but  all  plain  and  to  the  point.  Then  there 
was  no  tricking  a  fellow — persuading  him  to  put  his  head  into 
a  rope  without  showing  him  first  how  d — d  strong  it  was.  I 
like  that.  I  always  desire  to  see  the  way  before  me.  Give  me 
the  leader  that  shows  me  the  game  I'm  to  play,  and  the  odds 
against  me.  In  fighting,  as  in  eating,  I  love  to  keep  my  eyes 
open.  Let  them  take  in  all  the  danger,  and  all  the  dinner,  that 
I  may  neither  have  too  little  appetite  for  the  one,  nor  too  much 
for  the  other." 

"Ah,  Porgy,"  said  Humphries  in  reply,  "you  will  have  your 
joke  though  you  die  for  it." 

"  To  be  sure,  old  fellow,  and  why  not  ?  God  help  me  when  I 
cease  to  laugh.  When  that  day  comes,  Humphries,  look  for  an 
aching  shoulder.  I'm  no  trifle  to  carry,  and  I  take  it  for  granted, 
Bill,  for  old  acquaintance  sake,  you'll  lend  a  hand  to  lift  a  leg  and 
thigh  of  one  that  was  once  your  friend.  See  me  well  buried,  my 
boy ;  and  if  you  have  time  to  write  a  line  or  raise  a  headboard, 
you  may  congratulate  death  upon  making  the  acquaintance  of  cue 
who  was  remarkably  intimate  with  life." 


CHAPTn,rt   XL. 

"  Sound  trumpets — let  the  coil  be  set  aaid* 
That  now  breaks  In  upon  our  conference." 

MEANWHILE,  the  hero  of  Saratoga — a  man  who,  at  that  time, 
almost  equally  with  Washington,  divided  the  good  opinion  of 
his  countrymen — arrived  from  Virginia  and  took  command  of  the 
Bouthern  army.  The  arrival  of  Gates  was  a  relief  to  the  brave 
German  soldier,  Baron  De  Kalb,  who  previously  had  the  command. 
The  situation  of  the  army  was  then  most  embarrassing.  It  lay  at 
Deep  river,  in  the  state  of  North  Carolina,  in  a  sterile  country, 
filled  either  with  lukewarm  friends  or  certain  enemies.  The  execu 
tive  of  the  colony  had  done  but  little  to  secure  aid  or  co-operation 
for  the  continentals.  Provisions  were  procured  with  difficulty, 
and  the  militia  came  in  slowly,  and  in  unimportant  numbers.  The 
command  of  the  state  subsidy  had  been  intrusted  to  Mr.  Caswell  ; 
a  gentleman  who  has  been  described  as  being  without  the  qualities 
which  would  make  a  good  soldier,  but  with  sufficient  pretension  to 
make  a  confident  one.  He  strove  to  exercise  an  independent  com 
mand,  and,  on  various  pretences,  kept  away  from  a  junction  with 
De  Kalb,  in  whom  his  own  distinct  command  must  have  been 
merged.  Even  upon  Gates's  arrival,  the  emulous  militia-man  kept 
aloof  until  the  junction  was  absolutely  unavoidable,  and  until  its 
many  advantages  had  been  almost  entirely  neutralized  by  the 
untimely  delay  in  effecting  it.  This  junction  at  length  took  place 
on  the  fifteenth  day  of  August,  nearly  a  month  after  Gates's 
assumption  of  the  general  command.  We  repeat  here  what  was 
the  army  criticism  upon  Caswell ;  but  this  should  be  taken  with 
some  grains  of  allowance.  Caswell  had  previously  shown  himself 
a  man  of  merit,  and  had  done  good  service. 

A  new  hope  sprang  up  in  the  bosoms  of  the  continental  ^rith 
the  arrival  of  a  commander  already  so  highly  distinguished-  Hit 


BARON  DE   KALB.  433 

noble  appearance,  erect  person,  majestic  height  and  carriage,  and 
the  bold  play  of  his  features,  free,  buoyant,  and  intelligent  in  high 
degree,  were  all  calculated  to  confirm  their  sanguine  expectations. 
In  the  prime  of  life,  bred  to  arms,  and  having  gone  through  several 
terms  of  service  with  character  and  credit,  every  tiling  was  expected 
by  the  troops  from  their  commander.  Fortune,  too,  had  almost 
invariably  smiled  upon  him  ;  and  his  recent  success  at  Saratoga — a 
success  which  justice  insists  should  be  shared  pretty  evenly  with 
Arnold — the  traitor  Arnold — and  others  equally  brave,  but  far 
more  worthy — had  done  greatly  towards  inspiring  his  men  with 
assurances,  which,  it  is  not  necessary  now  to  say,  proved  most  illu 
sory.  Nor  was  De  Kalb,  to  whom  General  Gates  intrusted  the 
command  of  the  Maryland  division  of  the  army,  including  that  also 
from  Delaware,  without  his  influence  in  the  affections  of  the  conti 
nentals.  He  was  a  brave  man,  and  had  all  his  life  .been  a  soldier. 
A  German  by  birth,  he  was  in  the  service  of  the  King  of  France, 
and  was  already  a  brigadier,- when  transferred  to  America  in  the 
revolutionary  struggle.  Congress  honoured  him  with  the  commis 
sion  of  a  major-general,  and  he  did  honour  to  the  trust — he  perished 
in  the  execution  of  its  duties. 

The  command  given  to  Gates  was  so  far  a  shadowy  one.  With 
the  Maryland  and  Delaware  regiments,  it  consisted  only  of  three 
companies  of  artillery  under  the  command  of  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Carrington,  which  had  just  joined  from  Virginia,  and  a  small 
legionary  corps,  of  about  sixty  cavalry  and  as  many  foot,  under 
Colonel  Armand,  a  foreigner.  But  the  general  was  not  to  be  dis 
couraged  by  this  show  of  weakness,  though  evident  enough  to  him 
at  the  outset.  He  joined  the  army  on  the  25th  July,  was  received 
with  due  ceremony  by  a  continental  salute  from  the  little  park  of 
artillery,  and  received  the  command  with  due  politeness  from  his 
predecessor.  He  made  his  acknowledgments  to  the  baron  with  all 
the  courtesy  of  a  finished  gentleman,  approved  and  confirmed  his 
standing  orders,  and,  this  done,  to  the  surprise  of  all,  gave  the 
troops  instructions  to  hold  themselves  in  readiness  to  move  at  a 
moment's  warning. 

This  was  an  order  which  manifested  the  activity  of  their  com 
mander's  mind  and  character ;  but  it  proved  no  litue  annoyance 


434  THE    PARHSAH". 

to  the  troops  themselves,  who  well  knew  their  own  condition. 
They  were  without  rum  or  rations — their  foragers  had  failed  to 
secure  necessary  supplies  in  sufficient  quantity — and  nothing  but 
that  high  sense  of  military  subordination  which  distinguished  the 
favourite  line  of  continentals  under  De  Kalb's  direction,  could  have 
prevented  the  open  utterance  of  those  discontents  which  they  yet 
could  not  help  but  feel.  De  Kalb  ventured  to  remind  Gates  of 
the  difficulties  of  their  situation.  A  smile,  not  more  polite  than 
supercilious,  accompanied  the  reply  of  the  too  confident  adventurer. 

"  All  this  has  been  cared  for,  general.  I  have  not  issued  orders 
without  duly  considering  their  bearing,  and  the  unavoidable  neces 
sities  they  bring  with  them.  Wagons  are  on  the  road  with  all  the 
articles  you  name  in  sufficient  quantity,  and  in  a  day  or  two  these 
discontents  will  be  all  satisfied.  Your  line  is  not  refractory,  T 
hope  ?" 

"  Never  more  docile,  I  beg  your  excellency  to  believe,  than  now. 
The  troops  I  command  know  that  subordination,  not  less  than 
valour,  is  the  duty  of  the  soldier.  But  human  nature  has  its 
wants,  and  no  small  part  of  rny  care  is,  that  I  know  their  suffering 
— not  from  their  complaints,  sir,  for  they  say  nothing — but  from 
my  own  knowledge  of  their  true  condition,  and  of  what  their  com 
plaints  might  very  well  be." 

"  It  is  well — they  will  soon  be  relieved  ;  and  in  order  to  contri 
bute  actively  to  that  end,  it  is  decided  that  we  march  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow,  sir  !  Your  excellency  is  aware  that  this  is  imprac 
ticable  unless  we  move  with  but  one  half  of  our  baggage,  for  want 
of  horses.  Colonel  Williams  has  just  reported  a  large  deficiency." 

With  evident  impatience,  restrained  somewhat  by  a  sense  of 
politeuess,  Gates  turned  away  from  the  baron  to  Colonel  Otho 
Williams,  who  was  then  approaching,  and  put  the  question  to  him 
concerning  the  true  condition  of  the  army  with  regard  to  horses, 
The  cheek  of  the  old  veteran,  De  Kalb,  grew  to  a  yet  deeper  hue 
than  was  its  habitual  wt-ar,  and  his  lips  were  compressed  with  pain 
ful  effort  as  he  heard  the  inquiry.  Williams  confirmed  the  state 
ment,  and  assured  the  general,  that  not  only  a  portion  of  the  bag 
gage,  but  a  part  of  the  artillery  must  be  left  under  the  same  defi 
ciency  in  the  event  of  a  present  movement. 


WANT   OF   CA VALET.  435 

"  And  how  many  field-pieces  are  thus  unprovided,  Colonel 
Williams  ?" 

"  Two,  sir,  at  least,  and  possibly  more." 

Gates  strode  away  for  a  few  moments,  then  returning  quicklj 
as  if  in  that  time  he  had  fully  discussed  the  matter  in  his  owe 
.mind,  he  exclaimed  :     • 

u  They  must  be  left ;  we  shall  be  able  to  do  without  them.  We 
must  move  to-morrow,  gentlemen,  without  loss  of  time,  taking  the 
route  over  Buffalo  ford  towards  the  advance  post  of  the  enemy  on 
Lynch's  creek.  We  shall  find  him  there,  I  think." 

Gates  seemed  to  think  that  nothing  more  was  wanting  to  suc 
cess  than  finding  his  enemy,  and  his  eye  declared  the  confident 
expectation  of  youth,  unprepared  for,  and  entirely  unthinking  of, 
reverse.  Flattered  by  good  fortune  to  the  top  of  his  bent,  she  now 
seemed  desirous  of  fooling  him  there ;  and  his  eye,  lip,  look,  and. 
habitual  action,  seemed  to  say  that  with  him  now,  it  was  only  to 
see,  to  conquer. 

De  Kalb  turned  away  sorrowfully  in  silence ;  but  Colonel  Wil 
liarns,  presuming  on  large  personal  intimacy  with  the  general,  ven 
tured  to  expostulate  with  him  upon  the  precipitate  step  which  he 
was  about  to  take.  He  insisted  upon  the  necessity  of  horse,  not 
only  for  the  baggage  and  artillery,  but  for  the  purpose  of  mount 
ing  a  large  additional  force  of  the  infantry,  to  act  as  cavalry  along 
the  route.  But  Gates,  taking  him  by  the  arm,  smiled  playfully  to 
his  aide,  as  he  replied  : 

"  But  what  do  we  want  with  cavalry,  Williams  ? — we  had  none 
at  Saratoga." 

Perhaps  it  would  be  safe  to  assert  that  the  game  won  at  Sara 
toga  was  the  true  cause  of  the  game  lost  at  Camden.  The  folly 
of  such  an  answer  was  apparent  to  all  but  the  speaker.  With  a 
marked  deference,  careful  not  to  offend,  Williams  suggested  the, 
radical  difference  between  the  two  regions  thus  tacitly  compared. 
He  did  not  dwell  upon  the  irregular  and  broken  surface  of  the 
ground  at  Saratoga,  which  rendered  cavalry  next  to  useless,  and, 
indeed,  perfectly  unnecessary  ;  but  he  gave  a  true  picture  of  the 
country  through  which  they  were  now  to  pass.  By  nature  sterile, 


THE   PARTISAN. 

abounding  with  sandy  plains  and  swamps,  thinly  inhabited,  nothing 
but  cavalry  could  possibly  compass  the  extent  of  ground  over 
which  it  would  be  necessary  that  they  should  go  daily  in  order  to 
secure  provisions.  He  proceeded,  and  described  the  settlers  in  the 
neighbourhood  as  chiefly  tories — another  name  for  a  banditti  the 
most  reckless  and  barbarous — who  would  harass  his  army  at  every 
step,  and  seek  safe  cover  in  the  swamps  whenever  he  should  turn 
upon  them.  Williams,  who  knew  the  country,  ably  depicted  its 
condition  to  his  superior,  and  with  a  degree  of  earnestness  only 
warranted  by  the  friendship  existing  between  them.  It  was,  never 
theless,  far  from  agreeable  to  his  hearer,  who,  somewhat  peevishly, 
at  length  responded  : 

"  Colonel  Williams,  we  are  to  fight  the  enemy,  you  will  admit  V 
He  will  not  come  to  us,  that  is  clear.  What  next  ?  We  must  go 
to  him.  We  must  pit  the  cock  on  his  own  dunghill." 

"  It  will  be  well,  general,  if  he  doesn't  pit  us  there.  Though  we 
do  seek  to  fight  him,  there's  no  need  of  such  an  excess  of  civility 
as  to  give  him  his  own  choice  of  ground  for  it ;  and  permit  me  to 
suggest  a  route  by  which  we  shall  seek  him  out  quite  as  effectimlly, 
I  thiuk,  and,  with  due  regard  to  your  already  expressed  decision, 
on  better  terms  for  ourselves." 

"Proceed!"  was  all  the  answer  of  Gates,  who  began  whistling 
the  popular  air  of  Yankee  Doodle,  with  much  sang-froid,  even  while 
his  aide  was  speaking.  The  brow  of  Williams  grew  slightly  con 
tracted  for  an  instant ;  but,  well  knowing  the  habits  of  the  speaker, 
and  regarding  much  more  the  harmony  of  the  army  and  its  pros 
pect  of  success  than  his  own  personal  feelings,  he  calmly  enough 
proceeded  in  his  suggestions.  A  rude  map  of  the  country  lay  on 
the  table  before  him,  on  which  he  traced  out  the  path  which  he 
now  counselled  his  superior  to  take. 

"  Here,  sir,  your  excellency  will  see  that  a  route  almost  north 
west  would  cross  the  Peedee  river,  at  or  about  the  spot  where  ii 
becomes  the  Yadkin  :  this  would  lead  us  to  the  little  town  of  Salis 
bury,  where  the  people  are  firm  friends,  and  where  the  country  ah 
around  is  fertile  and  abundant.  This  course,  sir,  has  the  advantage 
of  any  other,  not  only  as  it  promises  us  plenty  of  provisions,  but  an 


IMPORTANT   SUGGESTIONS.  437 

it  yields  us  an  asylum  for  the  sick  and  wounded,  in  the  event  of  a 
disaster,  either  in  Mecklenburg  or  Rowas  counties,  in  both  of 
which  our  friends  are  stanch  and  powerful." 

The  suggestion  of  disaster  provoked  a  scornful  smile  to  the  lips 
of  Gates,  and  he  seemed  about  to  speak,  but  perceiving  that  Wil 
liams  had  not  yet  concluded,  he  merely  waved  his  hand  to  him  to 
proceed.  Williams  beheld  the  smile  and  its  peculiar  expression, 
and  his  manly  and  ingenuous  countenance  was  again  slightly 
flushed  as  he  surveyed  it.  His  tall,  graceful  figure  rose  to  its  full 
height,  as  he  went  on  to  designate  the  several  advantages  offered  to 
the  army  by  the  suggested  route.  In  this  review  were  included, 
among  other  leading  objects,  the  establishment  of  a  laboratory  for 
the  repair  of  arms  at  Salisbury  or  Charlotte — a  depot  for  the  secu 
rity  of  stores  conveyed  from  the  northward  by  the  upper  route — 
the  advantage  which  such  a  course  gave  of  turning  the  left  of  the 
enemy's  outposts  by  a  circuitous  route,  and  the  facility  of  reaching 
the  most  considerable  among  them  (Camden),  with  friends  always 
in  the  rear,  and  with  a  river  (the  Wateree)  on  the  right.  These, 
and  other  suggestions,  were  offered  by  Williams,  who,  at  the  same 
time,  begged  to  fortify  his  own  opinions  by  a  reference  to  other  and 
better  informed  gentlemen  than  himself  on  the  subject.  Gates,  who 
had  heard  him  through  with  some  impatience,  only  qualified  ;n  its 
show  by  the  manifest  complacency  with  which  he  contemplated  hit 
own  project,  turned  quietly  around  to  him  at  the  conclusion,  and 
replied  briefly — 

"  All  very  well,  Williams,  and  very  wise — but  we  must  march 
now.  To-morrow,  when  the  troops  shall  halt  at  noon,  I  will  lay 
these  matters,  as  you  have  suggested  them,  before  the  general 
officers." 

Laying  due  stress  upon  the  word  general,  he  effectually  conveyed 
the  idea  to  the  mind  of  Williams,  that,  though  he  had  received  the 
uggestions  of  a  friend  and  intimate,  he  was  not  unwilling  to  rebuke 
the  presumption  of  the  inferior  officer  aiming  to  give  counsel. 
With  a  melancholy  shake  of  the  head,  De  Kalb  turned  away, 
jerking  up  the  hips  of  his  smallclothes,  as  he  did  so,  with  a  suffi 
ciently  discontented  movement.     Williams  followed  him  from  the 
19 


438  THE    PARTISAN . 

presence  of  the  infatuated  generalissimo,  and  all  parties  were  toot 
busy  in  preparation  for  a  start. 

The  next  morning,  the  journey  was  begun  ;  the  army  setting 
foi  th,  unmurmuring,  though  with  but  half  its  baggage,  and  with  no 
present  prospect  of  provisions.  Gates,  however,  seemed  assured  of 
their  proximity,  and  cheered  his  officers,  and  through  them,  the 
men,  with  his  assurance.  At  noon  the  army  came  to  a  halt,  and 
here  they  were  joined  by  Colonel  Walton,  bearing  advices  from 
Marion,  and  bringing  up  his  own  skeleton  corps,  which  was  incor 
porated  with  Colonel  Dixon's  regiment  of  the  North  Carolina  mili 
tia.  The  services  of  Walton,  as,  indeed,  had  been  anticipated  b** 
him,  were  appropriated  at  once  by  the  general  in  his  own  family 
No  conference  took  place  at  this  halt,  as  Gates  had  promised  Wil 
liams.  After  a  brief  delay,  which  the  men  employed  in  ransacking 
their  knapsacks  for  the  scraps  and  remnants  which  they  contained, 
the  march  was  resumed  :  the  waggons  with  provisions  not  yet  in 
sight,  and  their  scouts  returning  with  no  intelligence  calculated  for 
their  encouragement. 

The  country  through  which  their  journey  was  to  be  taken, 
exceeded  in  sterility  all  the  representations  which  had  been  mad*, 
of  it.  But  few  settlements  relieved,  with  an  appearance  of  human 
life,  the  monotonous  originality  of  the  wild  nature  around  them ; 
and  these,  too,  were  commonly  deserted  by  their  inhabitants  on 
the  appearance  of  the  army.  The  settlers,  dividing  on  either 
side,  had  formed  themselves  into  squads  to  plunder  and  prey  upon 
the  neighbouring  and  more  productive  districts.  They  were  Ish- 
rnaelites  iu  all  their  practices,  and  usually  shrank  away  from  any 
force  larger  than  their  own ;  conscious  that  power  must  only  bring 
them  chastisement. 

The  distresses  of  the  soldiery,  on  this  sad  and  solitary  march, 
increased  with  every  day  in  their  progress.  Still,  none  of  the  pro 
visions  and  stores  promised  them  by  the  general  at  the  outset,  came 
to  their  relief.  In  lieu  of  these,  they  had  the  long  perspective,  full 
of  fertile  promise,  set  before  them.  There  was  the  Peedee  river  at 
hand,  the  banks  of  which,  they  were  told,  exceedingly  fertile,  held 
forth  the  prospect  of  abundance ;  but  hour  after  hour  came  and 


FORCES   MEET.  43S 

passed,  without  the  realization  of  these  prouises.  The  old  crop  of 
corn,  along  the  road,  had  been  long  since  exhausted,  and  the  new 
grain  was  yet  in  the  fields,  unripe  and  unfit  for  use.  But  the  neces 
sity  was  too  peremptory,  and  not  to  be  restrained.  The  soldiers 
plucked  the  immature  ears,  and  boiling  them  with  their  lean  beef 
which  herded  in  the  contiguous  swamps,  they  provided  themselves 
with  all  the  food  available  in  that  quarter.  Green  peaches  were  the 
substitute  for  bread  ;  and  fashion,  too,  became  a  tributary  to  want, 
and  the  hair  powder,  so  lavishly  worn  by  all  of  the  respectable 
classes  of  that  period,  was  employed  to  thicken  the  unsalted  soups, 
for  the  more  fastidious  appetites  of  the  officers.  Such  fare  was  pro 
ductive  of  consequences  the  most  annoying  and  enfeebling.  The 
army  was  one  of  shadows,  weary  and  dispirited,  long  before  it  came 
in  sight  of  an  enemy. 

It  was  on  the  third  day  of  August  that  the  little  army  crossed  the 
Peedee,  in  batteaux,  at  Mask's  ferry,  and  were  met  on  the  southern 
bank  by  Lieutenant-Colonel  Porterfield,  of  Virginia,  with  a  lean 
detachment  of  troops,  which  he  had  kept  together  with  much  diffi 
.culty  after  the  fall  of  Charleston.  A  few  hours  after,  and  while  the 
army  was  enjoying  its  usual  noon-day  halt,  the  little  partisan  corps 
of  the  Swamp  Fox  rode  into  camp. 

His  presence  created  some  sensation,  for  his  own.  reputation  had 
been  for  some  time  spreading ;  but  the  miserable  and  wild  appear 
ance  of  his  little  brigade  was  the  object  of  immense  merriment  on 
the  part  of  the  continentals.  They  are  represented  by  the  historian 
as  a  most  mirthful  spectacle,  all  well  mounted,  but  in  wretched 
attire,  an  odd  assemblage  of  men,  and  boys,  and  negroes,  .with  little 
or  no  equipment,  and  arms  of  the  most  strange  and  various  assort 
ment. 

Colonel  Marion  was  at  once  introduced  to  the  maiquee  of  the 
general,  but  his  troops  remained  exposed  to  the  unmeasured  jest  and 
laughter  of  the  continentals.  One  called  them  the  crow-squad,  from 
their  sooty  outsides  ;  this  name  another  denied  them,  alleging,  with 
a  sorry  pun,  that  they  had  long  since  forgotten  how  to  crow, 
although  they  were  evidently  just  from  the  dunghills.  A  third, 
more  classical,  borrowed  a  passage  from  Falstaff,  and  swore  he 
•hould  at  once  leave  the  army,  as  he  wouldn't  march  into  Coventry 


440  THE   PARTISAN. 

•with  such  scarecrows ;  but  a  fourth  said  that  was  the  very  reason 
that  he  should  stick  to  it,  as  Coventry  was  the  only  place  for  them. 

The  fierce  low-countrymen  did  not  bear  this  banter  long  or  with 
patient  temper.  As  they  sauntered  about  among  the  several 
groups  which  crowded  curiously  around  them,  sundry  little  squab 
bles,  only  restrained  by  the  efforts  of  the  officers,  took  place,  and 
promised  some  difficulty  between  the  parties.  Our  friend  Porgy 
himself,  though  withal  remarkably  good-natured,  was  greatly 
aroused  by  the  taunts  and  sarcasms  uttered  continually  around 
him.  He  replied  to  many  of  those  that  reached  his  ears,  and  few 
were  better  able  at  retort  than  himself;  but  his  patience  at  length 
was  overcome  entirely,  as  he  heard  among  those  .engaged  most 
earnestly  in  the  merriment  at  his  expense,  the  frequent  and  bois 
terous  jokes  of  Colonel  Armand,  a  foreign  mercenary,  who,  in 
broken  English,  pressed  rather  rudely  the  assault  upon  our  friend 
Porgy's  equipment  in  particular.  Armand  himself  was  lean  and 
attenuated  naturally.  His  recent  course  of  living  had  not  materi 
ally  contributed  to  his  personal  bulk.  Porgy  eyed  him  with 
wholesale  contempt  for  a  few  moments,  while  the  foreigner  blun 
dered  out  his  bad  English  and  worse  wit.  At  length,  tapping 
Armand  upon  the  shoulder  with  the  utmost  coolness  and  familiarity, 
Porgy  drew  hi^  belt  a  thought  tighter  around  his  waist,  while  he 
addressed  the  foreigner. 

"  Look  you,  my  friend — with  the  body  of  a  sapling,  you  have 
the  voice  of  a  punche'on,  and  I  like  nothing  that's  unnatural  and 
artificial.  I  must  reconcile  these  extremes  in  your  case,  and  there 
are  two  modes  of  doing  so.  I  must  either  increase  your  bulk  or 
lessen  your  voice.  Perhaps  it  would  be  quite  as  well  to  do  both ; 
the  extremes  meet  always  most  readily :  and  by  reducing  your 
voice,  and  increasing  your  bulk  at  the  same  time,  I  shall  be  able 
to  bring  you  to  a  natural  and  healthy  condition." 

"  Vat  you  mean  ?"  demanded  Armand,  with  a  look  of  mixed 
astonishment  and  indignation,  as  he  drew  away  from  the  familial 
grasp  which  Porgy  had  taken  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  I'll  tell  you ;  you  don't  seem  to  have  had  a  dinner  for  some 
time  back.  Your  jaws  are  thin,  your  complexion  mealy,  and  your 
belly — what  there  is  of  it — is  gaunt  as  a  greyhound's.  I'll  help  to 


CHALLENGE.  44i 

replenish  it.  Tom,  bring  out  the  hoecake  and  that  shoulder-bone, 
boy.  You'll  find  it  in  the  tin  box,  where  I  left  it.  Now,  mj 
friend,  wait  for  the  negro ;  he'll  be  here  in  short  order,  and  I  shall 
then  assist  you,  as  I  said  before,  to  increase  your  body  and  dimi 
nish  your  voice :  the  contrast  is  too  great  between  them — it  {s 
unnatural,  unbecoming,  and  must  be  remedied." 

Armand,  annoyed  by  the  pertinacity,  not  less  than  by  the  man 
ner  of  Porgy,  who,  once  aroused,  now  clung  to  him  tenaciously  all 
the  while  he  spoke,  soon  ceased  to  laugh  as  he  had  done  previously  ; 
and,  not  understanding  one-half  of  Porgy's  speech,  and  at  a  loss 
how  to  take  him,  for  the  gourmand  was  eminently  good-natured 
in  his  aspect,  he  repeated  the  question — 

"  Vat  you  sail  say,  my  friend  ?" 

"Tom's  coming  with  ham  and  hoecake — both  good,  I  assure 
you,  for  I  have  tried  them  within  the  hour ;  you  shall  try  them 
ajso.  I  mean  first  to  feed  you — and  by  that  means  increase  your 
bulk — and  then  to  flog  you,  and  so  diminish  your  voice.  You 
have  too  little  of  the  one,  and  quite  too  much  of  the  other." 

A  crowd  had  now  collected  about  the  two,  of  whom  not  the 
least  ready  and  resolute  were  the  men  of  Marion.  As  soon  as 
Armaud  could  be  made  to  understand  what  was  wanted  of  him, 
he  drew  back  in  unmeasured  indignation  and  dismay. 

"I  sail  fight  wid  de  gentilmaus  and  de  officer,  not  wid  you,  sir," 
was  his  reply,  with  some  show  of  dignity,  to  the  application  of 
Porgy.  A  hand  was  quietly  laid  upon  his  shoulder,  as  he  uttered 
these  words,  and  his  eye  turned  to  encounter  that  of  Singleton. 

"  I  am  both,  sir,  and  at  your  service,  Colonel  Armand,  in  this 
very  quarrel ;  though,  in  justice,  you  owe  the  right  to  Mr.  Porgy, 
who  just  asserted  it.  You  waived  your  own  rank,  sir,  when  you 
undertook  to  make  merry  at  the  expense  of  the  soldier  and  the 
simple  ensign,  and  thus  put  yourself  out  of  the  protection  of  your 
epaulet.  But  conceding  you  all  that  you  claim,  I  claim  to  be  your 
equal,  and  beg  to  repeat,  sir,  that  I  am  at  your  service." 

"  But,  sare,  who  sail  be  you — vat  you  sail  be  name  ?" 

"I  am  a  leader  of  the  squad  that  has  provoked  your  kaghter. 
I  am  Major  Singleton,  of  the  Brigade  of  Marion.  He  wili  answei 
for  my  rank  and  honour." 


442  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  But  sare, — honneur,  I  sail  not  laugh  at  de  gentilraans  and  de 
officers." 

"  The  officer  and  the  gentleman  protects  the  honour  of  his 
followers.  Will  you  compel  me  to  disgrace  you,  sir  ?"  was  the  stern 
demand  of  Singleton,  who  had  felt  quite  as  keenly  as  Porgy  the 
r.dicule  of  the  foreigner. 

It  is  difficult  to  say  what  might  have  been  the  fruit  of  this  little 
quarrel,  had  not  an  inkling  of  the  truth  reached  the  main  force  of 
the  General.  Armand's  corps,  meanwhile,  had  clustered  about 
their  colonel.  They  consisted  chiefly  of  foreigners,  and  this  fact 
would  have  told  fearfully  against  them,  had  the  parties  come  to 
blows.  Singleton,  in  like  manner,  was  soon  supported  by  a  hand 
some  levy  from  his  own  squad,  fierce  fellows  from  the  Cypress  and 
the  Santee  swamps.  There  were  the  potential  Porgy,  and  Bill 
Humphries  the  cool,  and  Jack  Davis  the  stubborn,  and  young 
Lance  Frampton,  eager  with  finger  already  on  the  cock  of  his  rifle. 
Swords  were  already  half  drawn,  and  restless  fingers  were  working 
at  the  knife  handles  in  the  belts  of  their  owners,  and  warm  work 
was  threatening,  while  each  of  the  opposing  parties  seemed  already 
to  have  singled  out  his  foe.  But  at  the  perilous  moment  the  loud 
voice  of  command  from  general  officers  was  heard,  the  drum  rolled 
to  quarters,  and  Gates,  with  De  Kalb  and  Marion,  appeared  among 
ihe  hostile  parties ;  and  they  retired  from  the  ground,  like  so  many 
machines,  at  the  simple  will  of  the  maker.  The  affray  was  thus 
prevented,  which,  a  moment  before,  had  seemed  inevitable.  Such 
is  military  subordination.  The  soldier,  in  fact,  is  most  a  soldier, 
when  most  a  machine :  but  this  very  fact  requires  that  the  will 
which  governs  him  should  be  that  of  a  born  master.  Gates,  with 
his  officers,  again  returned  to  their  conference,  which,  before  this 
interruption,  had  become  highly  animated  and  important.  Porgy 
was  quite  soured  that  Armand  had  gone,  unwhipt.  Somebody 
mentioned  that  this  personage  was,  in  fact,  a  Baron. 

"  Did  you  know  that  he  is  a  foreign  Lord,  Lieutenant,  a  Baron 
de  la  Robbery  or  something ;  and  would  you  whip  a  Lord  ?" 

"  As  the  Lord  liveth,"  was  the  seemingly  irreverent  answer,  "  ] 
should  have  whipt  him  out  of  his  breeches!" 


CHAPTER    XL1 

"The  evening  clouds  are  thick  with  threat  of  storm  ; 
The  night  grows  wild  ;  the  waters  champ  and  rave, 
As  if  they  clamoured  for  some  destined  prey." 

THK  reader  will  scarcely  believe,  knowing  as  he  does  the  greai 
achievements  of  General  Marion  at  the  South  throughout  the  revo 
lution,  that  his  proffer  of  service  on  this  occasion  was  met  with  in- 
Vliflbrence  by  General  Gates.  Yet  so  we  have  it,  on  the  authority 
of  history.  That  gentleman  partook  largely  of  the  spirit  which 
circulated  so  freely  in  his  army ;  and  the  uncouth  accoutrements, 
the  bare  feet,  and  the  tattered  garments  of  the  motley  assemblage 
of  men  and  boys,  half  armed,  which  the  Swamp  Fox  had  brought 
with  him  to  do  the  battles  of  liberty,  provoked  his  risibility  along 
with  that  of  his  troops.  The  personal  appearance  of  Marion,  him 
self,  was  as  little  in  his  favour.  Diffident  even  to  shyness,  there  was 
little  that  was  prepossessing  in  his  manners.  He  was  awkward  and 
embarrassed  in  the  presence  of  strangers :  and  though  singularly 
cool  and  collected  with  the  necessity  and  the  danger,  he  was  hardly 
the  man  to  command  the  favourable  consideration  of  a  superficial 
judge — one  of  mediocre  ability,  such  as  General  Gates  undoubtedly 
was.  The  very  contrast  between  the  two  men,  in  physical  respects, 
was  enough  for  the  latter.  Built,  himself,  on  a  superb  scale,  the 
movement,  the  look,  the  deportment  of  Gates,  all  bespoke  the  con 
scious  great  man.  Marion,  on  the  other  hand,  small  in  person,  lame 
of  a  leg,  with  a  downcast  eye,  and  hesitating  manners,  was  a  cipher 
in  the  estimation  of  the  more  imposing  personage  who  looked  upon 
him.  And  then  the  coarse  clothes — the  odd  mixture  of  what  was 
once  a  uniform,  with  such  portions  of  his  dress  as  necessity  had 
supplied,  and  which  never  could  become  so — altogether  offended  the 
nice  taste  of  one  rather  solicitous  than  otherwise  of  the  symmetries 
of  fashion.  Nothing,  therefore,  but  ^  well  regulated  sense  of  polite 
ness,  formed  closely  upon  the  models  of  foreign  service,  prevented 


444  THE   PARTISAN. 

the  generalissimo  from  laughing  outright  at  the  new  anxiliaries  now 
proffered  to  his  aid. 

But,  though  he  forbore  to  offend  in  this  manner,  ho  did  no/ 
scruple  to  lay  before  Marion  his  objections  to  the  proposed  use  of 
his  followers,  on  this  very  ground.  The  shallow  mind  could  not  set 
that  the  very  poverty,  the  miserably  clad  and  armed  condition  ot 
Marion's  men,  were  the  best  pledges  that  could  be  given  for  theii 
fidelity.  Why  should  they  fight  in  rags  for  a  desperate  cause,  with 
out  pay  or  promise  of  it,  but  that  a  high  sense  of  honour  and  of 
country  was  the  impelling  principle  ?  The  truth  must  be  spoken  : 
the  famous  Partisan  of  Carolina,  the  very  stay  of  its  hope  for  so 
long  a  season — he  who,  more  than  any  other  man,  had  done  so  much 
towards  keeping  alive  the  fires  of  liberty  and  courage  there,  until 
they  grew  into  a  bright  extending,  unquenchable  flame — was  very 
civilly  bowed  out  of  the  Continental  army,  and  sent  back  to  his 
swamps  upon  a  service  almost  nominal. 

"  Our  force  is  sufficient,  my  dear  colonel,"  was  the  conclusion  of 
the  general — "  quite  sufficient ;  and  you  can  give  us  little  if  any  aid 
by  direct  co-operation.     Something  you  may  do,  indeed — yes — by 
keeping  to  the  swamps,  and  furnishing  us  occasional  intelligence- 
picking  off  the  foragers,  and  breaking  up  the  communications." 

"  My  men  are  true,  your  excellency,"  was  the  calm  reply  ;  "  they 
desire  to  serve  their  country.  It  is  the  general  opinion  that  you 
will  need  all  the  aid  that  the  militia  of  the  state  can  afford." 

"  The  general  opinion,  my  dear  colonel,  errs  in  this,  as  it  does  in 
.he  majority  of  other  cases.  We  shall  have  a  force  adequate  to  our 
objects  quite  as  soon  as  a  junction  can  be  formed  with  Major-Ge 
neral  Caswell.  Could  you  procure  arms,  and  the  necessary  equip 
ments, — proper  garments,  for  example,  and  attach  your  force  to 
his—" 

"  I  understand  your  excellency,"  was  the  simple  answer,  as  Gate* 
hinted  his  true  objections  in  the  last  sentence ;  but,  save  the  slight 
compression  of  his  lips,  which  were  usually  parted  otherwise,  n« 
trace  of  emotion  besides,  appeared  upon  the  countenance  of  the 
speaker 

"  My  meu,"  he  continued,  "  are  some  of  them,  of  the  very  best 
ftunihes  in  the  country ;  homeless  now,  they  have  been  robbed  of  all 


PRIDE    OF   MARION.  445 

by  their  enemies.  They  are  not  the  men  to  light  less  earnestly  on 
that  account,  nor  will  their  poverty  and  rags  hinder  them  from 
striking  a  good  blow,  when  occasion  serves,  against  the  invader  to 
whom  they  owe  their  sufferings," 

Gates  was  sufficiently  a  tactician  to  see  that  the  pride  of  Marion 
was  touched  with  the  unjust  estimate  which  had  been  made  of  his 
men,  and  he  strove  to  remove  the  impression  by  a  show  of  frankness. 

"  But,  you  see,  rny  dear  colonel,  that  though  your  men  may  fight 
like  very  devils,  nothing  can  possibly  keep  the  continentals  from 
laughing  at  them.  We  can't  supply  your  people  ;  and  so  long  as 
'they  remain  as  they  are,  so  long  will  they  be  a  laughing-stock — so  long 
there  will  be  uproar  and  insubordination.  We  are  quite  too  delicately 
situated  now  to  risk  anything  with  the  army  ;  we  are  too  nigh  the 
enemy,  and  our  troops  have  been  too  stinted.  To  deny  them  to 
laugh,  is  to  force  them  to  rebel ;  we  can  only  remove  the  cause  of 
laughter,  and  in  this  way,  defeat  the  insubordination  which  undue  mer 
riment,  sternly  and  suddenly  checked,  would  certainly  bring  about." 

Gates  had  made  the  best  of  his  case,  and  Marion,  with  few  words, 
yielded  to  the  opinion,  from  which,  however,  he  mentally  withheld 
all  his  assent.  He  contented  himself,  simply,  with  stating  his  own 
and  the  desire  of  his  men  to  serve  the  country  by  active  operation 
in  the  best  possible  way.  Gates  replied  to  this  in  a  manner  suffi 
ciently  annoying  to  his  hearer,  but  which  had  subsequently  its  own 
adequate  rebuke. 

"  Any  increase  of  force,  my  dear  colonel,  would  be  perfectly  un 
necessary  after  my  junction  with  the  troops  I  daily  look  for.  Gas- 
well  will  bring  me  all  the  North  Carolina  subsidies,  and  General 
Stevens,  with  a  strong  body  of  Virginians,  will  join  in  a  few  days. 
My  force  then  will  be  little  short  of  seven  thousand  men,  and  quite 
sufficient  for  all  contemplated  purposes.  We  shall  therefore  need 
no  aid  from  your  followers." 

"I  Lope  not,  general;  though  should  you,  my  men  are  always 
ready  to  offer  it  for  their  country.  Have  I  your  excellency's  per 
mission  to  retire  ?" 

"  You  have,  Colonel  Marion  ;  but  I  trust  you  will  still  continue 
operations  on  the  Peedee  and  the  Santee  rivers.  One  service,  if  you 
will  permit  me,  I  will  require  at  your  hands;  and  that  is,  that  you 
19* 


446  THE   PARTISAN. 

will  employ  your  men  in  breaking  up  all  the  boats  which  you  can 
possibly  find  at  the  several  crossing-places  on  the  Wateree — at 
Nelson's  and  Vance's  ferries  in  particular.  We  must  not  'et  my 
Lord  Ra\vdon  escape  us." 

It  was  now  Marion's  turn  to  smile,  and  his  dark  eye  kindled 
with  an  arch  and  lustrous  expression  as  he  heard  of  the  anticipated 
victory,  lie  well  knew  that  Rawdon  could  not  and  would  not  en 
deavour  to  retreat.  Such  a  movement  would  at  once  lose  him  the 
country.  It  would  have  stimulated  the  dormant  hopes  of  all  the 
people.  It  would  have  crushed  the  tories,  by  withdrawing  the 
army  whose  presence  had  been  their  prop.  It  would  destroy  all 
the  immense  labours,  at  one  blow,  by  which  the  invader  had  sought, 
not  only  to  realize,  but  to  secure  his  power. 

The  weakness  of  Gates  amused  the  partisan,  and  the  smile  upon 
his  lips  vvas  irrepressible.  But  the  self -complaisance  of  the  general 
did  not  suffer  him  to  behold  it ;  and,  concluding  his  wishes  and  his 
compliments  at  the  same  time,  he  bowed  the  Swamp  Fox  out  of 
the  marquee,  and  left  him  to  the  attention  of  the  old  baron,  De 
Kalb.  The  veteran  was  gloomy,  and  did  not  scrupje  to  pour  his 
melancholy  forebodings  into  the  ears  of  Marion,  for  whom  he  had 
conceived  a  liking.  When  they  were  about  to  separate,  with  a  lu 
dicrous  smile,  he  reminded  Marion  of  the  employment  which  Gates 
had  assigned  him  in  the  destruction  of  tjie  boats. 

"  You  need  not  hurry  to  its  execution,  my  friend,"  said  he ;  "  it 
is  a  sad  waste  of  property,  and,  if  my  thoughts  do  not  greatly  wan 
der,  I  fear  an  unnecessary  waste.  But  God  cheer  us,  and  his  bless 
ing  be  upon  you." 

They  parted — never  to  meet  again.  The  partisan  led  his  rejected 
warriors  back  in  the  direction  of  his  swamp  dwelling,  on  the  Santee. 
while  the  veteran  .went  back  with  a  heavy  heart  to  his  duties  in 
the  camp. 

In  an  hour,  the  onward  march  of  the  army  was  again  resumed. 
The  troops  went  forward  with  more  alacrity,  as  they  had  that  day 
feasted  with  more  satisfaction  to  themselves  than  on  many  days 
before.  A  small  supply  of  Indian  meal  had  been  brought  into 
camp  by  the  foragers,  and  produced  quite  a  sensation.  This  gave 
a  mess  to  all ;  ard  the  impoverished  beef,  which,  hitherto, they  had 


AMBITION   OF   CASWELL.  447 

eaten  either  alone  or  with  unripe  fruit,  boiled  along  with  it,  grew 
particularly  palatable.  With  all  the  elasticity  which  belongs  to 
soldiers,  they  forgot  past  privations,  and  hurried  on,  under  the 
promise  of  improving  circumstances,  which  were  to  meet  them  at 
every  step  of  their  farther  progiess. 

This  spirit  was  the  more  increased,  as  the  commanding  officer, 
aware  of  the  critical  situation  of  the  troops,  unfolded  himself  more 
freely  than.he  had  hitherto  done  to  Colonel  Williams,  who  acted  as 
deputy  adjutant-general.  The  show  of  confidence  operated  favour 
ably  on  the  troops,  who  were  at  a  loss  to  know  why  General  Gates, 
against  all  counsel,  had  taken  the  present  route.  He  said  it  had 
been  forced  upon  him ;  that  his  object  was  to  unite  with  Casweli ; 
that  Casvvell  had  evaded  every  order  to  join  with  him  ;  that  Cas- 
well's  vanity  desired  a  separate  command,  and  that  he  probably 
contemplated  some  enterprise  by  which  to  distinguish  himself. 

"  I  should  not  be  sorry,"  said  he,  ''  to  see  his  ambition  checked 
by  a  rap  over  the  knuckles,  if  it  were  not  that  the  militia  would 
disperse  and  leave  this  handful  of  brave  men  (meaning  the  conti 
nentals)  without  even  nominal  assistance." 

He  urged  that  the  route  was  taken  to  counteract  the  risks  of 
Caswell,  by  forcing  him  to  the  junction  he  seemed  so  desirous  to 
avoid  ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  secure  some  of  the  supplies  of 
provisions  and  other  necessaries,  which  he  asserted,  on  the  alleged 
authority  of  the  executive  of  North  Carolina,  were  even  then  in  the 
greatest  profusion  in  Caswell's  camp.  He,  moreover,  suggested  that 
a  change  of  direction  now  would  not  only  dispirit  the  troops,  but 
intimidate  the  people  of  the  country,  who  had  generally  sent  in 
their  adhesion  as  he  passed,  promising  to  join  him  under  their  own 
leaders.  These  we>-e  the  arguments  of  Gates;  and  whatever  may 
be  their  value,  he  should  have  the  benefit  of  them  in  his  defence. 
To  these  were  opposed,  in  vain,  the  poverty  and  destitution  of  the 
country,  and  the  perfidious  character  of  the  people  along  the  route 
they  pursued.  The  die  was  cast,  however,  and  the  army  went  for 
ward  to  destruction.  But  we  will  not  anticipate. 

On  the  fifth  of  August,  in  the  afternoon,  General  Gates  received 
a  letter  from  Caswell,  notifying  him  of  an  attack  which  he  medi 
tated  upon  a  post  of  the  British,  on  Lynch's  creek,  about  fourteen 


448  THE   PARTISAN. 

miles  from  the  militia  encampment.  This  increased  the  anxiety  of 
the  general  to  advance,  fearing  lest  Caswell  should  involve  himself 
in  utter  ruin ;  and  he  eagerly  pressed  forward  the  regulars.  While 
urging  them  still  upon  the  ensuing  day,  a  new  despatch  was  received 
from  the  general  of  militia,  stating  his  apprehensions  of  an  attack 
from  the  very  post  which,  the  day  before,  he  had  himself  meditated 
to  assault.  Such  a  strange  mixture  of  boldness  and  timidity 
alarmed  Gates  even  for  his  safety ;  and  he  now  hurried  forward  to 
relieve  him  from  himself,  and  with  more  rapidity  than  ever.  On 
the  seventh  of  August,  by  dint  of  forced  marching,  he  attained  his 
object,  and  the  long-delayed  junction  was  safely  effected,  at  the 
Cross  Roads,  about  fifteen  miles  east  of  the  enemy's  most  advanced 
post  on  Lynch's  creek. 

The  army  was  now  refreshed;  every  thing  AVUS  in  plenty;  for 
amid  the  greatest  confusion,  and  in  spite  of  all  his  difficulties,  Cas 
well  had  contrived  to  keep  a  constant  supply  of  wines,  and  other 
luxuries  on  hand,  with  which  the  half-famished  continentals  were 
pleasantly  regaled.  After  the  junction,  which  occurred  about  noon 
in  the  day,  the  army  marched  a  few  miles  towards  the  advanced 
station  of  the  British.  On  the  next  day,  pressing  forward  to  the 
post,  they  found  the  field  their  own  ;  the  enemy  had  evacuated  it, 
and  had  retired  back,  at  his  own  leisure,  to  a  much  stronger  posi 
tion  on  Little  Lynch's  creek,  and  within  a  day's  march  of  the  main 
post  of  Camden.  There  Rawdon  commanded  in  person,  with  a 
force  already  strong,  and  hourly  increasing  from  a  judicious  con 
traction  of  the  minor  posts  around  him,  which  he  effected  as  soon 
as  apprised  of  the  approach  of  the  continentals. 

Still,  the  army  pressed  forward,  in  obedience  to  command,  igno 
rant  of  its  course,  and  totally  unconscious  of  the  next  step  to  be 
taken.  The  commander,  however,  began  to  take  his  precautions, 
as  he  saw  the  danger  of  encountering  an  enemy — encumbered  as 
he  now  was  with  unnecessary  baggage,  and  the  large  numbers  of 
women  and  children,  whom  he  had  found  with  Caswell's  militia. 
Wagons  were  detached  to  convey  the  heavy  baggage,  and  such 
women  as  could  be  driven  away,  to  a  place  of  safety  near  Char 
lotte  ;  but  large  numbers  of  them  preferred  remaining  with  the 
troops,  sharing  all  their  dangers,  and  partaking  of  their  privation* 


CAUTIOUS   MOVEMENTS.  449 

Exhortations  and  menaces  alike  failed  of  effect ;  they  positively 
refused  to  leave  the  army  on  any  terms. 

Relieved,  however,  of  much  of  his  encumbrance,  Gates  proceeded 
to  the  post  on  Little  Lyuch's  creek,  to  which  the  enemy  had  retired. 
Here  he  found  him  strongly  posted.  He  was  in  cover,  on  a  rising 
ground,  on  the  south  side  of  the  Wateree  ;  the  way  leading  to  it 
\vas  over  a  causeway  to  a  wooden  bridge  which  stood  on  the  north 
side,  resting  upon  very  steep  banks.  The  creek  lay  in  a  deep, 
muddy  channel,  bounded  on  the  north  by  an  extensive  swamp,  and 
only  passable  (except  by  a  circuit  of  several  miles)  directly  in  front 
of  the  enemy. 

"To  attack  him  in  face,  would  be  taking  the  bull  by  the  horns 
indeed,"  was  the  conclusive  remark  of  Gates,  as  he  reviewed  the 
position  and  examined  its  defences.  "  We'll  go  round  him !" — 
and,  for  the  first  time,  the  commander  prepared  to  take  the  least 
direct  road  to  the  enemy.  Defiling  by  the  right,  having  cautiously 
thrown  out  a  flanking  regiment  under  Colonel  Hall,  of  Maryland, 
the  army  pushed  on  by  a  circuitous  course  towards  Raw  don. 

This  movement  had  %he  effect  of  breaking  up  the  minor  post  of 
the  enemy  which  Gates  had  been  compelled  to  avoid,  and  its  com 
manding  officer,  with  some  precipitation,  fell  back,  with  all  his  gar 
rison,  upon  Cainden.  The  post  at  Clermont,  Rugely's  Mills,  was 
also  abandoned  at  the  same  time  ;  and,  on  the  thirteenth  of  August, 
it  was  occupied  by  the  American  general  with  his  jaded  army. 

The  movements  of  Gates  had  been  closely  watched  by  the 
enemy,  who  was  vigilant  in  the  extreme.  The  precautions  taken 
by  Rawdon — who,  up  to  this  moment,  had  been  the  general  in 
command  opposed  to  him — were  judicious  and  timely.  But  the 
command  was  now  to  be  delivered  into  yet  abler  hands ;  for,  with 
the  first  account  of  the  proximity  of  the  southern  army,  Corn- 
wallis,  with  a  portion  of  the  garrison  from  Charleston,  set  forth  foi 
Camden.  His  march  communicated,  like  wildfire,  the  business  of 
his  mission  to  the  people  of  the  country  through  which  he  was  to 
pass ;  and  it  was  with  feelings  in  nowise  enviable,  that  he  saw  the 
exulting  looks  of  th«  disaffected  whenever  they  n^et  with  him  on 
his  progress.  At  Dorchester,  where  he  paused  a  day,  and  by  his 
presence  controlled  sormwhat  the  restless  spirit  of  those  in  that 


450  THE    PARTISAN. 

quarter,  who,  otherwise,  were  willing  enough  to  rise  in  mutiny,  he 
could  almost  hear  the  muttered  rebellion  as  it  rose  involuntarily  to 
the  lips  of  many.  Standing  lustily  in  his  doorway  as  the  glittering 
regiments  went  through  the  village,  old  Pryor  growled  out  his  hope 
for  their  destruction. 

"  Ay,  go !  ye  glitter  now,  and  look  d — d  fine,  but  Gates  will 
roll  your  red  jackets  in  the  rnud.  He'll  give  you  a  dressing,  my 
lads,  ye  shall  remember.  Ay,  shake  your  flags,  and  beat  your 
drums,  but  you'll  have  another  guess  sort  of  shake  and  tune  when 
you're  coming  back." 

The  stern  and  lofty  earl,  erect  and  tall,  inflexible  and  thoughtful, 
moved  along  upon  his  steed  like  some  massive  tower,  before  the 
dwelling  of  the  sturdy  rebel ;  who,  uttering  no  shout,  waving  no 
hat,  giving  no  sign  but  that  of  scornful  hate,  and  a  most  bitter 
contempt,  gazed  upon  the  warrior  without  fear  or  shrinking. 

"  Go,  d — n  you,  go ;  go  where  the  drum  that  beats  for  you  shall 
be  muffled ;  go  where  the  bugle  that  rings  in  your  ears  shall  not 
stir  you  again  in  your  saddles ;  go  where  the  rifle  shall  have  a 
better  mark  in  your  bodies  than  it  ever  fouad  at  Bunker's  and  at 
Lexington." 

And  as  he  muttered  thus,  his  old  eye  rekindled,  and  he  watched 
the  last  retreating  forms  in  the  distance,  repeating  to  himself  the 
fond  hope,  which  was  then  a  pregnant  sentiment  in  the  bosom  of 
thousands,  who  had  felt  long  what  they  could  not  resent,  and  now 
rejoiced  in  the  belief,  confidently  entertained,  that  their  enemies 
had  gone  to  a  battle-field  from  whence  they  never  would  return. 
The  hour  of  punishment  was  at  hand — so  they  fondly  thought — 
and  Gates's  was  the  avenging  arm  sent  for  its  infliction. 

On  the  night  of  the  fifteenth  of  August,  without  any  conference 
with  his  officers,  Gates  bade  his  army  advance  from  Clercnont  on 
the  route  to  Camden.  What  was  his  hope  ?  What,  indeed,  we 
may  well  ask,  was  his  object?  He  literally  had  no  intelligence  in 
respect  to  his  enemy ;  he  had  omitted  most  of  those  precautions  by 
which,  in  armies,  intelligence  was  to  be  procured.  The  suggestions 
of  his  own  friends  were  unheeded,  and  he  deigned  no  genenu 
consultation.  Colonels  Williams  and  Walton,  both  ventured  to 
teinind  him,  in  general  terms,  of  the  near  neighbourhood  of  the ' 


THE   SPY.  451 

foe,  doubtless  in  force;  for,  on  the  subject  of  their  numbers,  no 
information  had  yet  been  received.  On  the  same  day,  an  inhabit 
ant  from  Camden,  named  Hughson,  came  to  head-quarters,  affecting 
ignorance  of  the  approach  of  the  Americans,  and  pretending  a 
warm  interest  in  their  success.  He  was  a  Marylander,  and  was 
disposed  to  be  very  friendly  with  his  countrymen,  the  continentals. 
lie  freely  gave  his  information  to  Gates — information  which  was 
true,  so  far  as  it  went ;  but  which  was  given  in  just  sufficient  quantity 
to  promote  the  precipitation  of  the  American  commander  and  the 
purposes  of  the  British.  Gates  readily  believed  all  that  was  told 
him ;  and  though  suspicions  arose  in  the  minds  of  some  of  the 
officers  around  him,  the  credulity  of  the  general  himself  underwent 
no  lessening  from  the  more  prudent  counsels  of  his  subordinates. 
The  spy — for  such  he  was — was  actually  suffered  to  leave  the 
camp  and  return  to  Camden,  not  only  with  the  fulfilment  of  the 
purpose  for  which  he  went,  but  possessed  of  the  more  valuable 
information  with  which  he  was  permitted  to  return.  Besotted  self- 
confidence  had  actually  blinded  the  American  general  to  the  huge 
and  fearful  trench  which  he  had  been  digging  for  himself,  and 
which  now  lay  immediately  before  him. 

A  few  hours  only  divided  him  from  his  enemy ;  yet,  strange  to 
say,  he  knew  not  that  it  was  Cornwallis,  himself,  who  stood  opposed 
to  him.  That  brave  commander  had  hurried  with  all  possible 
celerity  to  the  scene  of  action.  He  knew  how  greatly  the  fortunes 
of  the  colony  depended  upon  the  present  contest.  Marion  was 
even  then  busy  along  the  Santee,  and  so  effectually  did  he  guard 
the  passes  by  Nelson's  and  Watson's,  that  his  lordship,  though 
I'ommanding  a  fine  body  of  troops,  veterans  all,  fresh  from  Charles 
ton,  and  superor  far  to  any  force  of  the  partisan,  was  compelled  to 
take  a  circuitous  and  indirect  route  in  reaching  Camden.  Marion 
had  greatly  increased  his  force  with  a  number  of  insurgents  from 
Black  river.  Sumter,  too,  was  in  active  motion,  and  .watched  the 
Wateree  river  with  the  avidity  of  a  hawk.  On  the  success  of  this 
battle  depended  every  thing;  for,  though  to  gain  it  would  not 
necessarily  have  secured  the  conquest  of  Cornwallis  in  Carolina, 
not  to  gain  it  would  most  probably  have  been  the  loss  of  all.  He 
knew  this,  and  his  desire  was  for  early  battle  before  the  troops  of 


462  THE   PARTISAN. 

Gates  were  rested ;  before  the  militia  could  come  in  to  his  relief; 
and  before  the  spirit  of  revolt,  throughout  the  province,  should 
distract,  by  various  risings  and  simultaneous  enterprises.  No 
general  was  ever  more  ready  than  Cornwallis  to  carve  his  way  out 
of  difficulties  with  the  strong  arm  and  the  sword.  Policy,  and  his 
passion  alike,  persuaded  him  now  to  the  adoption  of  this  stern 
arbitrament. 

At  the  very  hour  that  Gates  moved  from  Clermont  in  the  route 
to  Camden,  the  British  general  set  out  from  that  station  to  attack 
him  in  his  encampment.  Yet  Gates  had  no  intelligence  of  this : 
he  knew  not  even  that  his  lordship  had  reached  Camden.  He 
neglected  every  means  of  intelligence,  and  the  retributive  justice, 
which,  in  one  moment,  withered  all  the  choice  laurels  of  his  pre 
vious  fame,  and  tore  the  green  honours  from  his  brow,  though 
stern  and  dreadful,  must  yet  be  held  the  just  due  of  him,  who, 
with  a  leading  responsibility  of  life,  freedom,  and  fortune  depending 
upon  him,  forfeits,  by  the  feebleness  of  a  rash  spirit,  all  the  rich 
triumphs  that  are  otherwise  within  his  grasp.  Vainly  has  the 
historian  striven  after  arguments  in  his  excuse.  He  is  without 
defence ;  and  In  reviewing  all  the  events  of  this  period,  we  must 
convict  him  of  headstrong  self-confidence,  temerity  without  cool 
ness,  and  effort,  idly  expended,  without  a  purpose,  and  almost 
without  an  aim.  It  was  the  opinion  of  his  officers,  and,  indeed,  of 
all  others,  that  the  delay  of  a  few  days,  with  his  army  in  a  secure 
position,  was  all  that  was  necessary  towards  giving  the  American 
an  immense  superiority  over  the  British  commander.  Provisions 
would  have  been  plenty  in  that  time,  and  the  native  militia,  once 
satisfied  of  his  presence,  would  have  crowded  to  his  camp.  But 
the  fates  were  impatient  for  their  prey,  and  he  whom  God  has  once 
appointed  for  destruction,  may  well  fold  his  robes  about  him  in 
preparation  for  his  fall. 


CHAPTER   XLII. 

"And  the  deep  pause  that  ushers  in  the  storm, 
More  fearful  than  its  presence,  thrills  as  now— 
This  silence  of  the  voice  that  soon  shall  spealu" 

•  THE  American  general  at  last  began  to  exhibit  some  conscious 
ness  of  the  near  neighbourhood  of  foes;  and  that  day,  the  15th 
August,  after  general  orders,  he  prepared  the  following  in  addition 
— Colonel  Williams,  acting  adjutant-general,  Colonei  Walton,  and 
one  other  member  of  his  family  being  present: — 

•'  1 .  The  sick,  the  extra  artillery  stores,  the  heavy  baggage,  and 
such  quarter-master's  stores  as  are  not  immediately  wanted,  to 
march  this  evening,  under  a  strong  guard,  to  Waxliaw.  To  this 
order  the  general  requests  the  brigadier-generals  to  see  that  those 
under  their  command  pay  the  most  exact  and  scrupulous  obedience. 

"~2.  Lieutenant-Colonel  Edmonds,  with  the  remaining  guns  of 
the  park,  will  take  post  and  march  with  the  Virginia  brigade 
under  General  Stevens.  He  will  direct,  as  any  deficiency  may 
happen  in  the  artillery  affixed  to  the  other  brigade,  to  supply  it 
immediately.  His  military  staff,  and  a  proportion  of  his  officers, 
\vith  forty  of  his  men,  are  to  attend  him  and  await  his  orders. 

"  3.  The  troops  will  be  ready  to  march  precisely  at  ten  o'clock, 
in  the  following  order,  viz  : — 

"  Colonel  Armand's  advance — cavalry  commanded  by  Colonel 
Armand  ;  Colonel  Porterfield's  light  infantry  upon  the  right  flank 
of  Colonel  Armand,  in  Indian  file,  two  hundred  yards  from  the 
road ;  Major  Armstrong's  light  infantry  in  the  same  order  as  Co 
lonel  Porterfield's,  upon  the  left  flank  of  the  legion. 

11  Advance-guard  of  foot ;  composed  of  the  advance-pickets,  first 
brigade  of  Maryland,  second  brigade  of  Maryland,  division  of  North 
Carolina,  division  of  Virginia  ;  rear-guard — volunteer  cavalry  upon 
the  flank  of  baggage,  equally  divided. 


454  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  In  this  order  the  troops  will  proceed  on  their  march  this 
night. 

"4.  In  case  of  an  attack  by  the  enemy's  cavalry  in  front,  the 
light  infantry  upon  each  flank  will  instantly  move  up,  and  give, 
and  continue,  the  most  galling  fire  upon  the  enemy's  horse.  This 
will  enable  Colonel  Arraand  not  only  to  support  the  shock  of  the 
enemy's  charge,  but  finally  to  rout  him.  The  colonel  will  therefore 
consider  the  order  to  stand  the  attack  of  the  enemy's  cavalry,  be 
their  number  what  it  may,  as  positive. 

"5.  General  Stevens  will  immediately  order  one  captain,  two 
lieutenants,  one  ensign,  three  sergeants,  one  drum,  and  sixty  rank 
and  file,  to  join  Colonel  Porterfield's  infantry.  These  are  to  be 
taken  from  the  most  experienced  woodsmen,  and  men  every  way 
fittest  for  the  service. 

"  6.  General  Caswell  will  likewise  complete  Major  Armstrong's 
light  infantry  to  their  original  number.  These  must  be  marched 
immediately  to  the  advanced  post  of  the  army. 

"  The  troops  will  observe  the  profoundest  silence  upon  the  march, 
and  any  soldier  who  offers  to  fire  without  the  command  of  his 
officer,  must  instantly  be  put  to  death. 

"  When  the  ground  will  admit  of  it,  and  the  near  approach  of 
the  enemy  renders  it  necessary,  the  army  will,  when  ordered,  march 
in  columns. 

"  The  artillery  at  the  head  of  their  respective  brigades,  and  the 
baggage  in  the  rear.  The  guard  of  the  heavy  baggage  will  be 
composed  of  the  remaining  officers  and  soldiers  of  the  artillery,  one 
captain,  two  subalterns,  four  sergeants,  one  drum,  and  sixty  rank 
and  file,  &c, 

"  The  tents  of  the  whole  army  are  to  be  struck  at  tattoo.'* 

Such  were  the  general  orders  for  the  march.  Colonel  William* 
<,tid  the  adjutant-general,  Colonel  Walton,  and  Major  Thomas 
Pinckney,  were  in  conversation  at  the  entrance  of  the  general's 
marquee,  when,  with  a  smiling  and  good-natured  countenance,  he 
brought  the  paper  forth,  and  called  for  he  adjutant-general's 
attention. 

"  Colonel  Williams,  you  will  be  punctual  in  the  transmission  of 
these  orders  to  the  several  commands,  so  that  there  be  no  delay. 


ESTIMATE    OF    FORCE.  455 

Look  also  at  this  estimate,  which  has  been  made  this  morning  of 
the  entire  force,  rank  and  file,  of  the  army.  It  would  seem  to  be 
correct." 

Williams  took  the  paper,  and  glanced  rapidly  over  the  estimate, 
which  startled  him  by  its  gross  exaggerations. 

"  Correct,  sir !"  he  exclaimed,  with  unfeigned  astonishment ; 
"  impossible  !  Seven  thousand  men  ! — there  are  not  four  thousand 
fit  for  duty." 

"  You  will  see,  and  report  on  this,"  said  the  general,  coolly,  and 
at  once  turned  away  jo  the  tent,  in  which,  a  moment  after,  he  was 
lost  from  sight.  .%„ 

;i  Pinckney,"  said  Williams,  "  come  and  assist  me  in  this  esti 
mate.  Colonel  Walton  will  keep  in  attendance — you  will  not  be 
wanted." 

The  gallant  young  soldier,  then  a  tall,  fresh  and  vigorous  youth, 
noble,  and  accomplished  by  European  education,  as  were  few 
native  Americans  at  that  period,  immediately  complied  with  the 
request,  and  the  two  moved  away  upon  the  contemplated  mission. 
Availing  himself  of  his  orders,  which  were  to  bid  all  the  general 
officers  to  council  in  Rugely's  barn,  Williams  called  also  upon  the 
officers  commanding  corps  for  a  field  return.  This  he  required  to 
be  as  exact  as  possible  ;  and,  as  neither  himself  nor  Pinckney  was 
required  to  attend  the  deliberations,  they  devoted  themselves  to 
a  careful  abstract  of  the  true  force  of  the  army  for  the  general's 
better  information.  This  was  presented  to  him  as  soon  as  the 
council  had  broken  up,  and  just  as  Gates  was  coming  out  of  the 
door,  where  Williams  and  his  aides  awaited  him.  He  took  the 
paper,  and  with  clouding  brows  examined  its  contents. 

"How!  what  is  this?  what  is  this  figure,  Colonel  Williams?" 
he  inquired,  dashing  his  forefinger  hurriedly  upon  the  paper. 

"  A  three,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

"  A  three  ?  And  you  mean  to  say  that  there  are  only  three 
thousand  and  fifty-two  men,  rank  and  file,  fit  for  duty  ?" 

"  I  do,  your  excellency — scarce  a  man  more." 

"  Impossible  !  There  were  no  less  than  thirteen  general  officers 
in  council,  and  our  estimate  gave  not  a  man  less  than  seven 
thousand,  rank  and  file." 


456  THE    PARTISAN. 

".Your  estimate  of  the  general  officers  is  correct  enough,  sir," 
said  Williams,  firmly,  "  but  mine  of  the  men  is  not  less  so.  The 
disparity  between  officers  and  men,  in  our  battles,"  continued  the 
speaker,  innocently  enough,  "  has  always  been  rather  remarkable." 

A  quick  motion  of  Gates's  head,  a  sudden  shooting  glance  of  his 
eye,  intimated  his  own  perception  of  the  sarcasm,  and  apprised 
Williams,  for  the  first  time,  of  the  equivocal  character  of  his  re 
mark.  His  cheeks  grew  to  scarlet,  as  he  perceived  its  force,  and 
his  confusion  would  have  been  evident  to  his  superior,  but  that  the 
general  relieved  him  by  turning  away,  with  the  paper  crumpled  up 
in  his  hands,  simply  remarking  as  he  left  them — 
.  "Three  thousand — that  is  certainly  below  the  estimate  of  the 
morning ;  but  they  are  enough — enough  for  our  purpose," 

Williams  longed  to  ask  him  what  that  purpose  was,  but  pru 
dence  restrained  him.  The  only  farther  remark  of  Gates  on  the 
subject  was  uttered  as  he  was  retiring — 

"  You  have  delivered  the  orders,  sir? — see  them  obeyed.  There 
was  no  dissent  from  them  in  council." 

True  it  is  that  there  had  been  no  dissent  from  them  in  council ; 
but  they  were  scarcely  submitted  for  examination.  There  had 
been  no  consultation,  and  their  promulgation,  out  of  council,  at 
once  provoked  the  most  unrestrained  animadversion.  The  officers 
generally  insisted  tha*  all  opinion  or  discussion  had  been  silenced 
by  the  very  positive  terms  in  which  the  orders  had  been  ex 
pressed  ;  and,  indeed,  there  could  have  been  little  doubt,  from 
all  the  context,  that  General  Gates  did  not  conceive  it  necessary 
that  any  reference  should  be  made  to  the  opinions  of  those  around 
him.  The  council  was  simply  the  creature  of  a  certain  sense  of- 
military  propriety,  and  was  yielded  by  Gates  rather  to  general 
notions  of  what  was  due  to  courtesy,  than  as  a  matter  necessary 
to  the  great  cau&?  and  deep  interests  in  which  he  was  engaged. 
The  elder  officere  said  little  when  the  orders  were  conveyed  to 
them.  The  veteran  Baron  De  Kalb,  presuming  on  his  age  and 
services,  however,  and  the  usual  respect  with  which  Gates  had 
treated  him  hitherto,  sought  an  interview  with  him,  which  was 
uot  denied.  He  suggested  to  him  the  diminished  force  of  the 
fti  my,  so  infinitely  inferior,  as  it  was  found  to  be,  to  the  estimate 


fHE    REBUKE.  457 

.,uieh  had  been  mau-3  of  it  in  the  morning.  This  he  held  a 
sufficient  reason  for  changing  the  present  resolution  of  advance  for 
me  less  hazardous.  There  was  another  and  more  forcible  reason  yet. 

''  Two  thirds  of  our  army,  your  excellency  is  aware,  are  militia — 
men  who  have  never  yet  seen  service,  and  have  scarce  been  exer 
cised  in  arms  together.1' 

"True,  baron,  but  that  is  an  argument  against  using  them  at 
any  period.  They  must  begin  some  time  or  other." 

"  Yes,  your  excellency ;  but  our  first  experiments  with  them 
should  be  easy  ones.  By  these  orders,  we  are  not  only  to  march 
Ihem,  but  to  require  them  to  form  column,  and  to  manoeuvre,  by 
night,  in  the  face  of  an  enemy,  and  probably  under  his  fire.  This 
s  the  work  of  veterans  only." 

"The  danger  seems  to  increase  in  magnitude,  baron;  does  it 
3t?" 

The  old  soldier  drew  himself  up  svi'Ji  dignity — his  manly  person, 

;  longer  bowed  or  bent,  his  fine  blue  eye  flashing,  and  his  cheek 
.  <j--ldening  as  he  spoke:  he  replied  :-~ 

"I  know  not  what  your  excellency^  remark  may  mean  ;  but  in 
regard  to  the  greatness  or  the  littleness  of  the  danger,  I,  who  have 
been  forty  years  a  trusted  soldier  of  ibo  King  of  France,  should 
care  but  little  to  encounter  it.  Were  the  question  one  affecting 
my  life  only,  it  were  easily  answered.  I  came  to  fight  the  battles 
of  your  country,  sir,  and  am  prepared,  at  ail  hours,  to  die  in  them." 

The  rebuke  had  its  effect  upon  the  coirrnander,  though  he  did 
not  acknowledge  it.  His  self-esteem  was  too  great  for  that.  Nor 
did  he  allow  the  suggestions  of  the  baron  to  have  any  weight  upon 
his  previous  determinations.  With  a  com  ."onplace  compliment, 
the  conference  was  closed,  and  De  Kalb  went  back  to  his  command 
— doubtful,  pained,  and  justly  offended.  In  camp,  the  dissatisfac 
tion  had  rather  subsided,  with  the  single  except1' ^n,  among  the 
officers,  of  Colonel  Armand.  He  took  exception  to  the  .positive 
orders  concerning  himself,  as  implying  a  doubt  cf  his  courage ;  at 
the  same  time  ho  objected  to  the  placing  of  his.  cavalry  in  front 
of  a  line  of  battle — certainly  a  very  injudicious  order,  particularly 
as  the  legion  of  Arrnand  was  most  heterogeneous  tl  its  formation, 
and  such  a  disposition  of  cavalry  had  never  been  nt  *& 


458  THE    PARTISAN. 

complained  that  Gates  bad  placed  him  there  from  resentment,  on 
account  of  a  previous  dispute  between  them  touching  the  use  of 
horses. 

"  I  do  not  say,"  said  he,  in  broken  English, "  that  General  Gates 
intends  to  sacrifice  us ;  but  I  do  say,  that  if  such  were  his  inten 
tions,  tliese  are  just  the  steps  which  he  should  take  for  it." 

Still,  however,  as  it  was  not  known  that  the  enemy  was  posi 
tively  in  force  before  them,  all  the  parties  grew  more  satisfied,  after 
a  while,  to  proceed.  The  army  moved  on  accordingly  at  the 
appointed  hour. 

The  two  armies  met  at  midnight.  They  first  felt  each  other 
through  the  mutual  salutation  of  small-arms,  between  their  several 
advance-guards.  The  cavalry  of  Armand's  legion  were  the  first  to 
reel  in  the  unexpected  contest.  They  recoiled,  and  in  their  retreat, 
flying  confusedly,  threw  the  whole  corps  into  disorder.  This,  with 
a  similar  recoil,  fell  back  upon  the  front  column  of  infantry,  dis 
ordered  the  first  Maryland  brigade,  and  occasioned  a  momentary 
consternation  throughout  the  entire  line  of  advance.  But  Colonel 
Porterfield  advanced  from  the  wing,  agreeably  to  first  orders,  threw 
in  a  prompt  fire  upon  the  British  van,  and  liis  men  gallantly  cheering 
as  they  advanced,  restored  the  general  confidence. 

The  British,  seemingly  no  less  astounded  than  the  Americans, 
tell  back  after  the  first,  shock,  and  both  parties  seemed  to  acquiesce 
in  a  suspension  of  all  further  hostilities  for  the  night.  Prisoners 
were  taken  on  both  sides  in  this  rencontre,  and  the  intelligence 
gained  by  those  brought  into  the  American  camp,  was  pro.iuclive 
of  a  degree  of  astonishment,  in  General  Gates's  mind,  which  found 
its  way  to  his  countenance.  He  called  a  council  of  war  instantly. 
When  the  adjutant-general  communicated  the  call  to  De  Kalb,  the 
old  veteran's  opinion  may  be  gathered  from  the  response  which 
he  made  to  that  officer — 

"  Has  the  general  given  you  orders  to  retreat  the  army,  Colonel 
Williams?" 

"  He  has  not,"  was  the  answer. 

"  I  will  be  with  you  in  a  moment,  then,  but  will  first  burn  my 
papers ;"  a  duty  which  he  performed,  a  short  time  after,  witb 
scrupulous  promptitude. 


FUTURE   OPERATIONS.  469 

Assembled  in  the  rear  of  the  army,  General  Gates  communicated 
the  intelligence  obtained  from  the  prisoners  just  taken  ;  and  then, 
for  the  first  time,  proposed  a  question,  implying  some  little  hesita- 
tion  on  the  subject  of  future  operations. 

"  What  now  is  to  be  done,  gentlemen  ?" 

For  a  few  moments  all  were  silent,  until  General  Stevens  of  the 
Virginians,  after  looking  round  for  some  other  to  speak,  advanced 
in  front  of  the  commander,  and  put  his  own  answer  in  the  form  of 
a  new  inquiry. 

"Is  it  not  too  late,  noto,  gentlemen,  to  do  any* thing  but  fight?" 

Another  pause  ensued,  which,  as  it  seemed  to  give  assent  to  the 
last  words  of  Stevens,  General  Gates  himself  interrupted — 

"  Then  we  must  fight :  gentlemen,  be  pleased  to  resume  your 
posts." 

They  all  moved  to  their  stations  with  the  promptness  of  soldiers, 
but  with  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  men  also,  who  could  not 
approve  of  what  had  been  done,  and  who  had  nothing  consoling 
in  the  prospect  before  them.  Gates  moved  hurriedly  for  several 
moments  up  and  down  the  little  tent  which  had  been  raised  for 
him  within  the  hour.  His  manner  was  subdued,  but  cool.  Once 
or  twice  he  looked  forth  from  its  cover  with  an  air  of  anxiety,  then 
turning  to  Williams,  and  the  aides  in  attendance,  he  remarked — 

"  This  is  a  quiet  night,  gentlemen,  bnt  it  promises  to  be  a  tedious 
one.  What  is  the  time,  Colonel  Walton  ?" 

"  A  little  after  one,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

"  You  may  leave  me  for  an  hour,  gentlemen — only  an  hour  ;  we 
must  prepare  for  daylight." 

Walton  and  Major  Finckriey,  together,  strolled  away,  not  re 
quiring  repose.  The  thought  of  Colonel  Walton  was  with  his 
child — the  one — the  one  only — who  could  fill  his  heart — who 
could  inspire  painful  anxiety  at  such  a  moment  in  his  mind.  How 
fervent  were  his  prayers  in  that  hour  for  her  safety,  whatever  fata 
in  the  coming  events  of  the  daylight,  might  award  to  him  ! 


CHAPTER     XLII1. 

"  Then  came  the  cloud,  the  arrowy  storm  of  war, 
The  fatal  stroke,  the  wild  and  whizzing  shot,' 
Seeking  a  victim — the  close  strife,  the  groan, 
And  the  shrill  cry  of  writhing  agony." 

• 

Ir  every  thing  was  doubtful  and  uncertain  in  the  camp  of  Gates, 
tk.  i  state  of  things  was  very  different  in  that  of  Cornwallis.  That 
al  le  commander  knew  his  ground,  his  own  men,  and  the  confidence 
anl  the  weakness  alike  of  his  enemy.  That  weakness,  that  un 
happy  confidence,  were  his  security  and  strength.  His  own  force 
numbered  little  over  two  thousand  men  ;  but  they  were  tried 
soldiers,  veterans  in  the  British  southern  army,  and  familiar  with 
their  officers.  The  troops  of  Gates — two  thirds  of  them  at  least — 
had  never  once  seen  service ;  and  the  greater  number  only  now 
for  the  first  time  knew  and  beheld  their  commander.  They  had 
heard  of  his  renown,  however,  and  this  secured  their  confidence. 
It  had  an  effect  far  more  dangerous  upon  his  officers ;  for,  if  it  did 
not  secure  their  confidence  also,  it  made  them  scrupulous  in  their 
suggestions  of  counsel  to  one  who,  from  the  outset,  seemed  to  have 
gone  forth  with  the  determination  of  rivalling  the  rapidity,  as  well 
as  the  immensity,  of  Cesar's  victories.  To  come,  to  see,  to  conquer, 
was  the  aim  of  Gates  ;  forgetting^  that  while  Caesar  commanded 
the  Roman  legion,  Horatio  Gates  was  required  first  to  teach  the 
American  militia. 

Cornwallis  seems  perfectly  to  have  understood  his  man.  They 
are  said  to  have  once  seen  foreign  service  together ;  if  so,  the  earl 
had  studied  him  with  no  little  success.  He  now  availed  himself 
of  the  rashness  of  his  opponent;  and,  though  inferior  in  numbers, 
went  forth  to  meet  him.  We  have  seen  their  first  encounter,  where 
Gates,  contrary  to  the  advice  of  his  best  officers,  commenced  a  march 
after  nightfall ;  requiring  of  undrilled  militia  the  most  novel  and 
difficult  evolutions  'm  the  dark.  Having  feH  his  enemy,  and  per- 


CORNWALLIS.  461 

ceived,  from  the  weight  of  Colonel  Porterfielc's  infantry  fire,  that 
the  whole  force  of  the  Americans  was  at  hand,  Cornwallis  drew  in 
his  army,  which  had  been  in  marching  order  when  the  encounter 
began ;  and,  changing  his  line  to  suit  the  new  form  of  events,  pro 
ceeded  to  make  other  arrangements  for  the  dawning. 

The  firing  was  still  continued,  in  the  advance,  though  materially 
diminished  and  still  diminishing,  when  Cornwallis  gave  the  orders 
Co  recall  his  forces.  The  order  was  a  timely  one.  In  that  moment 
the  advance  of  Porterfield  was  pressing  heavily  upon  the  British 
•/an,  and  driving  it  before  them.  The  mutual  orders  of  the  two 
generals,  both  dreading  to  risk  the  controversy  on  a  struggle  so 
unexpectedly  begun,  closed  the  affair  for  the  night. 

Dismounting  beneath  a  clump  of  trees,  Cornwallis  called  aroutm 
him  a  council  of  his  officers.  The  tall,  portly  form  of  the  earl  rose 
loftily  in  the  midst  of  all,  with  a  cool,  quiet  dignity,  that  indicated 
command.  His  face  was  one  of  much  expression,  and  spoke  a  cha 
racter  of  great  firmness  and  quick  resolve.  His  features  were  bold 
and  imposing  ;  his  cheeks  full  and  broad,  nose  prominent,  forehead 
rather  broad  than  high,  his  lips  not  thin,  but  closely  titling.  Ills- 
eye  had  in  it  just  enough  of  the  kindling  of  battle  to  enliven  fea 
tures  which  otherwise  would  have  appeared  more  imperious  than 
intelligent.  His  carriage  was  manly,  and  marked  by  all  the  ease 
of  the  courtier.  Standing  erect,  with  his  hand  lightly  resting  on 
the  hilt  of  his  sword,  and  looking  earnestly  around  him  on  his  sev 
eral  officers  as  they  made  their  appearance — a  dozen  lightwood 
torches  flaming  in  the  hands  of  the  guards  around  him — his  pre 
sence  was  majestic  and  noble.  Yet  there  was  a  something  in  his 
features,  which,  if  not  sanguinary,  at  least  indicated  well  that  in 
difference  to  human  life,  that  atrocious  hardihood  of  deed,  which  a 
severe  justice  would  describe  as  crime,  and  which  marked  too  many 
of  his  doings  in  the  South.  His  looks  did  not  belie  that  callosity 
of  soul  which  could  doom  his  fellow-men,  by  dozens,  to  the  gal 
lows — the  accusation  improve n  against  them,  and  their  own  defence 
utterly  unheard. 

Beside  him,  conspicuous,  though  neither  tall  nor  commanding  in 
person,  stood  one  to  whom  the  references  of  Cornwallis  were  made 
with  a  degree  of  familiarity  not  often  manifesto  i  by  the  comrnan- 
20 


462  THE    PARTISAN. 

der.  His  person  was  of  the  middle  size,  rather  slender  than  full, 
but  of  figure  well  made,  admirably  set,  and  in  its  movements 
marked  alike  by  ease  and  strength.  He  was  muscular  and  bony 
— though  not  enough  so  to  command  particular  attention  on  this 
account.  The  face  alone  spoke,  and  it  was  a  face  to  be  remem 
bered.  It  was  rather  pale  and  thin,  but  well  chiselled  ;  and  the 
mouth  was  particularly  small  and  beautiful.  Its  expression  wa> 
girlish  in  the  extreme,  and  would  have  been  held  to  indicate  eiiu- 
minacy  as  the  characteristic  of  its  owner,  but  for  its  even  quiet,  iis 
immobility,  its  calm  indifference  of  expression.  The  nose  was  good, 
but  neither  long  nor  large  :  it  comported  well  with  the  expression 
of  the  mouth.  But  it  was  the  eye  that  spoke ;  and  its  slightest 
look  was  earnestness.  Every  glance  seemed  sent  forth  upon  some 
especial  mission — every  look  had  its  object.  Its  movements,  unlike 
those  of  the  lips,  were  rapid  and  irregular.  His  hair  was  light  and 
mipowdered ;  worn,  singularly  enough,  at  that  period,  without  the 
usual  tie,  and  entirely  free  from  the  vile  pomatum  which  disfigured 
the  fashionable  heads  of  the  upper  classes.  His  steel  cap  and  wav 
ing  plume  were  carried  in  his  hand  ;  and  he  stood,  silent  but  ob 
serving,  beside  Cornwallis,  as  Lord  Kawdon,  followed  by  the  brave 
Lieutenant-Colonel  Webster,  and  other  officers,  came  up  to  the  con 
ference.  The  warrior  we  have  endeavoured  briefly  to  describe,  vva^ 
one  whose  name,  for  a  time,  was  well  calculated  to  awaken  in  the 
souls  of  the  Southern  whigs,  an  equal  feeling  of  hate  and  dread. 
He  was  the  notorious  Colonel  Tarleton,  the  very  wing  of  the  Bri 
tish  invading  army  :  a  person,  striking  and  commanding  in  aspect 
gentle  and  dignified  in  deportment,  calm  and  even  in  his  general 
temper ;  but  fierce  and  forward  in  war,  sanguinary  in  victor}-, 
delighting  in  blood,  and  impatient  always  until  he  beheld  it 
flowing. 

Webster,  equally  if  not  more  brave  than  Tarleton,  and  certainly 
a  far  better  officer,  bore  a  better  character  for  mercy  in  the  south 
ern  warfare.  His  worth  to  his  own  army  was  equally  great,  and 
there  is  no  such  odium  coupled  with  his  exploits,  as  shaded  and 
stained  the  very  best  of  Tarleton's.  His  celebrity  with  the  OIK;, 
never  obtained  for  him  any  unhappy  notoriety  with  the  other. 

M  The  enemy  is  in  force  before  us,  gentlemen,"  said  Cornwall's, 


SANGL'IXE    HOPES.  468 

abruptly — "so  our  prisoners  tell  us.  These  confirm  the  reports  of 
the  Marylander,  Hughson.  The  rebels  corne,  as  we  could  wish 
them,  fairly  into  our  clutches.'' 

"The  fact  would  seem  to  be  fully  confirmed,  ray  lord,  by  the  se 
verity  of  their  fire  from  the  infantry  on  the  left.  Such  an  ad 
vance  guard  would  at  once  speak  for  the  presence  of  their  entire 
a  nay." 

This  was  the  remark  of  Webster.  There  was  a  pause  of  a  mo 
ment,  iu  which  Cornwallis  appeared  to  consult  a  memorandum  in 
his  hand.  He  spoke  at  length  to  Tarleton. 

"  What  horse  was  the  report  of  Hughson  ?" 

"  Armand's  only — some  sixty-five,  your  excellency." 

"And  their  late  reinforcement  of  Virginians?" 

"  A  perfect,  but  single  regiment." 

"  'Tis  odds,  gentlemen,  large  odds  against  us,  if  these  reports  be 
true.  The  lines  of  Maryland  and  Delaware — good  troops  these — 
the  Virginia  troops,  the  North  Carolinians,  and  native  militia,  make 
up  five  thousand  men  at  least — full  five  thousand — for  the  rebel 
array.  Ours  is  not  three." 

"  But  quite  enough,  my  lord,"  was  the  prompt  but  measured 
language  of  Tarleton.  "The  rebel  militia  are  mere  carrion,  half 
starved  ;  and,  De  Kalb's  continentals  alone  excepted,  will  not  stand 
a  second  fire.  We  shall  ride  over  them.1' 

"  Ay,  Tarleton — you  will  ride  over  them  when  our  bayonets 
have  first  given  you  a  clear  track,"  said  Webster. 

"  Which  you  will  soon  do,"  was  the  equally  cool  but  ready  re 
sponse  of  the  other.  "  They  have  come  into  our  clutches,  to  em 
ploy  the  phrase  of  your  excellency  ;  it  will  be  our  fault  if  we  do 
not  close  our  claws  upon  them.  Half  starved,  and  perfectly  un- 
drilled,  they  will  offer  little  obstacle.  The  novelty  of  situation, 
alone, is  always  terror  enough  for  these  militia.  It  is  such  a  terror 
as  they  never  get  over  until  the  third  trial.  This  is  the  first,  with 
at  least  two  thirds  of  this  hodge-podge  army.  We  must  see  that 
they  do  not  get  to  a  second." 

"  There  spoke  the  sabre,"  said  Rawdon,  playfully. 

"  It  should  never  spr>ak  twice,''  responded  Tarleton,  without  • 
smile ;  "  dead  rebels  u<  f er  bite." 


464  THE   PARTISAN. 

"  No,  but  they  howl  most  cursedly  before  they  die,  as  you  should 
know,  Tarleton  above  all  others.  We  hear  the  echoes  even  now 
from  the  Waxhaws,  where  your  sabres  told  upon  Buford's  regi 
ment,"  said  Rawdon. 

"  Ay,  that  was  a  sad  business,  Bannister,  though,  to  be  sura,  you 
could  not  well  help  it,"  was  the  additional  remark  of  Cornwallis, 
who  yet  looked  approvingly  upon  the  person  whom  he  thus  par 
tially  censured.  Tarleton  simply  smiled ;  his  thin  lips  slightly 
parting,  and  exhibiting  a  brief  glimpse  of  the  closed  teeth,  as  he 
replied — 

"  Better  they  should  howl  than  hurt :  their  bark  is  music ;  their 
bite  might  be  something  worse.  I  am  content  to  bear  the  reproach, 
so  long  as  our  good  sovereign  reaps  the  benefit ;  amd  will  always 
prefer  to  amputate  the  vicious  member  that  we  cannot  so  surely 
heal." 

"Our  wish  is  for  the  fight,  gentlemen,"  said  Cornwallis;  "my 
own  opinion  insists  upon  it  as  the  preferable  measure.  The)'  out 
number  us,  it  is  true ;  but  I  feel  satisfied  we  can  outfight  them. 
Whether  we  can  or  not,  I  think,  at  least,  we  should  try  for  it. 
We  gain  everything  by  victory  ;  delay  increases  their  force  ;  and 
even  without  defeat,  makes  the  difficulty  of  conquest  with  us  so 
much  the  greater.  The  suggestion  of  Tarleton  is  one  also  of  im 
portance.  The  rebels  are  half  starved  men  ;  their  provisions  have 
been  unequal  to  their  wants,  and  unsatisfactory,  for  some  time  past. 
Disease,  too — so  we  learn  from  Hughson — has  thinned  them  great 
ly  ;  and  in  every  possible  aspect,  our  condition  imperiously  calls 
for  fight.  This  is  my  opinion." 

"And  mine,"  responded  Tarleton  slowly,  letting  down  his  sabre, 
which  rattled  quiveringly  in  the  sheath  with  the  stroke.  The  same 
opinion  was  expressed  by  Rawdon,  Webster,  and  the  rest ;  the  re 
solve  for  fight  was  unanimous.  Cornwallis  then  proceeded  to  ar 
range  his  army  in  order  of  battle.  They  displayed  in  one  line, 
completely  occupying  the  ground,  one  flank  resting  on  a  swamp, 
the  other  on  a  slight  ravine  which  ran  parallel  with,  and  near  it. 
The  infantry  of  the  reserve,  dividing  equally,  took  post  in  a  second 
line,  opposite  the  centre  of  each  wing.  The  cavalry,  commanded 
by  Tarleton,  held  the  road,  where  the  left  of  the  right  wing  met 


PLAN   OF   BATTLE.  •  466 

the  volunteers  of  Ireland,  a  corps  which,  thus  placed,  formed  tho 
right  of  the  left  wing.  On  the  right,  Lieutenant-Colonel  Webster 
was  placed  in  command.  To  Colonel  Lord  Rawdon  the  left  was 
assigned.  Two  six  and  two  three-pounders,  under  Lieutenant  M'Leod, 
were  placed  in  the  front  line,  and  two  other  pieces  with  the  reserve. 

The  arrangement  of  this  force,  though  at  midnight,  so  perfectly 
drilled  and  well  experienced  had  they  been,  was  the  movement  of 
machines  rather  than  of  men.  Every  step  was  taken  under  the 
eyes  of  superior  officers — every  cannon  found  its*  assigned  place 
with  a  niceness,  admirably  contrasting  with  the  confusion  which  is 
supposed  to  belong  to  battle.  Each  soldier,  before  the  dawn,  had 
his  supply  of  rum  provided  him  ;  and  officers  and  men,  resolute 
and  ready,  held  their  places  in  order  of  battle,  anxiously  awaiting  the 
approaching  daylight. 

The  American  army  was  formed  with  similar  precision,  and  at 
the  same  hour.  The  second  brigade  of  Maryland,  with  the  regi 
ment  of  Delaware,  under  Gen.  Gist,  took  the  right ;  Oie  brigade  of 
North  Carolina  militia,  led  by  Caswell,  the  centre  ;  that  of  Virginia, 
under  Stevens,  the  left.  The  first  Maryland  brigade  was  formed  in 
reserve,  under  General  Smallwood.  Major-General  Baron  De  Kalb, 
charged  with  the  line  of  battle,  took  post  on  the  right,  while  Gates, 
superintending  the  whole,  as  general-in-chief,  placed  himself  on 
the  road  between  the  line  and  the  reserve.  To  each  brigade  a  due 
proportion  of  artillery  was  allotted  ;  but  the  wing  of  an  army — 
the  horse — was  utterly  wanting  to  that  of  Gates.  The  cavalry  of 
Armand,  defeated  at  the  first  encounter  of  the  night,  is  thought,  by 
some  of  the  simple  countrymen  who  witnessed  their  rapidity,  to  be 
flying  to  this  very  day. 

Gates's  line  of  battle  has  been  criticised,  with  the  rest  of  his  pro 
ceedings,  in  this  unhappy  campaign.  His  arrangements  placed  the 
Virginia  militia,  an  untried  body,  which  had  never  before  seen  ser 
vice,  on  the  left,  a  disposition  which  necessarily  put  them  in  front  of 
the  enemy's  right,  consisting  of  his  veterans.  The  better  course  would 
certainly  have  been,  to  have  thrown  the  continentals,  our  regulars, 
upon  the  left ;  by  which  arrangement,  the  best  men  of  both  armies 
must  have  encountered.  This  was  the  plan  of  Lincoln  in  previous 
•vents,  and  certainly  that  plan  most  conformable  to,  and  indeed 


466'  THE    PARTISAN. 

called  for  by,  the  circumstances  of  the  case.  The  flank  rf  the 
American,  like  that  of  the  British  army,  rested  upon  a  morass ; 
ard,  thus  disposed,  it  awaited  upon  the  ground,  and  in  the  given 
orier,  for  the  first  glimpses  of  daylight  and  the  enemy. 

With  the  dawn  of  clay  the  British  were  discovered  in  front,  in 
•olumn,  and  on  the  advance.  This  was  communicated  to  the 
adjutant-general,  Williams,  who  soon  distinguished  the  British 
uniform  about  two  hundred  yards  before  him.  Immediately  order 
ing  the  batteries  to  be  opened  upon  them,  he  rode  to  General 
Gates,  who  was  in  the  rear  of  the  second  line,  and  informed  him  of 
what  had  been  done,  communicating  his  opinion,  at  the  same  time, 
that  the  enemy  were  displaying  the;"  column  by  the  right ;  but 
still  nothing  was  clear  enough  in  th_- proceedings  of  the  opposite 
army  for  certainty  on  either  side.  Gates  heard  him  attentively, 
but  gave  no  orders,  and  seemed  disposed  to  await  the  progress  of 
events ;  upon  which  the  adjutant-general  presumed  upon  a  farther 
suggestion. 

"  Does  not  your  excellency  think  that  if  the  enemy  were 
attacked  briskly  by  Stevens,  while  in  the  act  of  deploying,  the 
effect " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Gates,  hurriedly  interrupting  him  ;  "  that's  right 
— let  it  be  done,  sir." 

These  were  almost  the  last  orders  given  by  the  unhappy  com 
mander.  Quick  as  thought,  Williams  seized  the  commission,  and, 
readily  obedient,  General  Stevens  advanced  with  his  brigade  to  the 
charge ;  all  seemingly  in  fine  spirits.  But  the  instructions  came 
too  late — the  evolution  of  the  enemy  was  complete ;  they  were  al 
ready  in  line,  and  prepared  to  receive  the  attack. 

But  this  did  not  alter  the  determination  either  of  Stevens  or  the 
adjutant.  Assigning  a  force  of  fifty  men  to  the  latter  to  commence 
the  action  by  firing  from  the  cover  of  trees  as  riflemen,  in  the 
hope  to  extort  the  premature  fire  of  the  British,  Stevens  cried  out 
to  his  brigade,  as  he  saw  the  enemy's  column  moving  down  upon 
him  in  front — 

"  (Courage,  my  men,  and  charge — charge  home !  You  have 
bayonets  as  well  as  they." 

His  words  were  drowned  and  lost  in  the  wild  huzzas  and  the 


COURAGE,  467 

fierce  onset  of  the  opposing  British,  who  fired  aa  they  carne  on, 
with  their  pieces  in  rest  for  the  charge  of  bayonets.  The  militia 
was  seized  with  a  panic,  and,  in  spite  of  all  the  efforts  of  the 
gallant  Sievens,  could  not  be  persuaded  either  to  stand  the  charge 
or  to  return  the  fire.  A  few  only  stood  with  their  leader.  The 
great  majority,  throwing  away  their  loaded  arms,  fled  in  every 
direction  ;  and,  catching  from  them  the  unworthy  panic,  the 
North  Carolinians — a  single  regiment  under  Colonel  Dixon  alone 
excepted-^fol  lowed  the  shameful  example. 

In  vain  did  Stevens  and  Caswell  endeavour  to  stem  the  torrent 
•of  retreat.  The  fugitives  were  not  to  be  restrained;  and  sought, 
in  desperate  flight,  for  that  safety  which  flight  seldom  gives,  and 
which  it  most  certainly  denied  to  them.  They  broke  through  the 
line,  leaving  the  right  still  firm,  and  pressing  down  upon  the 
reserve,  disordered  them  completely  while  passing  through  the 
ranks,  which  were  already  partially  demoralized.  Panic  is  one  of 
those  indescribable  things  upon  which  comment  is  usually  wasted. 
Its  contagious  operation  is  sufficiently  understood,  if  the  cause  be 
unexplainable.  Gates  was  sufficiently  experienced  in  war  to  under 
stand  his  danger.  He  beheld  it  at  a  glance.  His  blind  vanity 
had  led  to  the  disaster.  It  no  longer  deceived  him  as  to  its  const 
quences.  From  the  place  where  he  stood  he  beheld  the  disaster  with 
emotions,  wild,  staggering,  humbling  in  the  last  degree,  and  which 
almost  left  him  wholly  without  resource.  He  had  only  the  native 
courage  of  his  heart  to  fall  back  upon ;  he  could  only  seek  now  to 
lead  them  into  the  thickest  waves  of  danger.  His  hair  withered 
to  the  very  roots  as  he  surveyed  the  rout.  Through  the  crowd,  the 
torrent  of  confusion,  with  head  uncovered  and  grey  locks  flying  in 
the  wind,  he  darted  headlong,  and  his  voice  hoarsely  rose  over  all 
the  sounds  of  battle,  as  he  strove,  with  incoherent  cries,  to  arrest 
the  flood,  and  bring  back  to  order  his  panic-borne  and  broken 
battalions. 

"  Stand  ! — stay — turn  !  Whither  would  you  fly — why  fly,  men 
of  Virginia?  Am  I  not  here  to  lead  you  back — to  lead  you  to 
victory  ?  Turn,  cowards,  for  shame's  sake,  for  the  sake  of  your 
country.  There  is  no  danger.  The  battle  is  yours,  if  you  will  buf 
make  a  single  effovt.  Back  with  me.  Shame  not  yourselves,  yoiu 


468  THE   PARTISAN. 

state,  your  country  !  Shame  not  these  grey  hairs,  my  countrymen, 
«  entreat — I  implore — I  command  you,  turn,  and  strike  but  a 
single  blow — deliver  but  another  volley.  Behold  !  I  myself  will 
lead  you  to  victory  1" 

He  might  as  well  have  spoken  to  the  winds,  wild  and  headlong 
in  the  autumnal  equinox.  lie  might  as  well  have  spoken  to  the 
floods,  loosed  from  the  bonds  of  the  deep,  and  mounting  in  foam 
ing  mountains  above  the  shores.  They  heard  not — they  heeded 
none  of  his  exhortations — his  cries,  his  entreaties,  his  curses.  Ho 
threw  himself  amidst  the  fugitives.  He  smote  fiercely  among 
them  with  bared  sword,  striking  as  if  among  foes  only,  and  all  in 
vain.  Never  were  efforts  more  honestly,  but  idly  made,  to  compel 
the  flying  militiamen  back  to  the  ranks  which  they  had  broken, 
and  the  standards  which  they  had  dishonoured.  Then,  too  late, 
were  the  evil  effects  beheld  of  that  recklessly  forward  march  which 
had  considered  none  of  their  necessities,  and  had  allowed  its  comman 
der  no  time  to  win  the  confidence  of  his  people.  His  was  an  un 
accustomed  voice;  and  in  this  lies  half  the  cause  of  militia  panics 
generally.  The  voice  of  a  favourite  leader  would  not  have  been 
unheard  at  such  a  moment ;  and  even  then  the  field  might  have 
been  recovered — the  victory  might  have  been  won.  But  Gates's 
was  not  the  voice  to  effect  this  object.  He  shouted,  implored, 
raged  ;  and  was  never  heard.  In  his  fury,  smiting  down  a  refrac 
tory  soldier  who  offered  much  more  defiance  to  his  general  than  he 
had  done  to  the  British  bayonets,  he  vented  his  indignation  in  a 
torrent  of  oaths. 

"  Villains  !  cowards  !  wretched  cowards !  Why  will  you  fly  ? 
Turn  for  shame !  For  your  country,  for  me,  turn  upon  your 
enemy,  and  deliver  but  one  fire — strike  but  one  blow.  Turn 
about,  I  say — turn,  you  d — d  rascals,  turn  !" 

His  exhortations  and  oaths  were  equally  in  vain.  The  panic 
had  become  a  madness — drunk,  deaf,  delirious,  insensible  to  all 
influences  but  the  one  governing  terror  which  beheld  danger  on  all 
sides,  without  the  .resolution  to  encounter  it  on  any.  The  torrent 
bore  the  unfortunate  general  along  with  it;  the  rush  of  numbers 
was  no  longer  resistible ;  and  as,  despairing  at  last  of  bringing 
them  back,  he  sought  to  turn  about  himself,  in  order,  with  the  re- 


GATES'S   DEFEAT.  469 

solution  of  despair,  to  throw  himself  into  the  thick  of  the  struggle, 
where  it  was  carried  on  still  between  the  continentals  and  the  British, 
a  tall  sergeant  who  was  hurrying  away  with  the  rest,  and  who  had 
just  coolness  enough  to  endeavour  to  oppose  a  courage  greater  than 
fcis  own,  did  not  hesitate,  with  one  slash  of  his  sabre,  to  cut  the 
bridle  of  Gates's  horse,  and  set  the  animal  free  to  a  flight  which  he 
naturally  followed  with  the  fugitives.  Free  from  all  control,  the 
fiery  steed  of  the  general,  spite  of  all  his  efforts,  and  seeming  to 
share  in  the  common  panic,  darted  along  upon  the  route,  pursued 
by  the  flying  mass,  as  madly  as  the  rest.  Gates  had  now  seen  al". 
of  the  battle  which  he  was  destined  to  see.  His  hair  whitened  as 
he  flew.  The  sting  of  sharne  was  in  his  soul — his  sense  was  be 
wildered — maddened.  lie  would  have  thrown  himself  from  tlie 
horse,  but  he  was  prevented  by  those  about  him  ;  and  overwhelmed 
with  despair  and  humiliation,  which  clung  to  him  ever  afterwards 
through  life,  to  its  weary  close,  the  unfortunate  general  was  borne 
away  from  the  conflict  which  no  generalship  now  could  possibly 
retrieve. 

Meanwhile,  the  battle  still  raged  fiercely  in  certain  portions  of 
the  field.  The  British  were  not  suffered  to  sweep  the  plain  with 
out  paying  the  price  of  honourable  victory.  Flushed  with  the  sue 
cesses  which  they  had  won,  they  rushed  forward  on  all  hands  tf 
lay  the  final  sickle  to  the  harvest ;  but  their  .onward  course  of  con 
quest  was  arrested  for  a  season  by  the  steady  front  and  unyielding 
nerve  of  the  continentals  under  l)e  Kalb.  The  main  battle  was 
yet  to  be  fought.  Accustomed  to  previous  encounters,  the  brave 
division  which  was  led  by  the  German  Baron  had  too  frequently 
smelt  gunpowder  to  be  greatly  moved  by  the  panics  of  militiamen ; 
and  their  courage  rose  in  due  degree  with  their  isolation.  They 
beheld  the  rout  with  little  or  no  emotion,  save  that  of  indignation. 
The  panic  touched  not  them.  As  for  the  sturdy  veteran  at  their 
head,  it  only  brought  out  his  best  resources,  and  in  showing  him 
the  extent  of  his  danger,  elevated  his  soul  to  a  due  sense  of  the 
resolution  which  was  needed  for  its  encounter.  He  saw  that  the 
field  before  him  was  that  of  his  last  conflict;  that  it  would  be  im 
possible,  with  his  small  division,  to  make  head  against  the  con 
centrated  attack  of  all  the  forces  of  the  British ;  but  he  was  firm 
20* 


470  THE   PARTISAN. 

in  his  decision  to  exact  from  his  enemy  the  fullest  price  of  cod 
quest. 

"  Stand  youi  ground,  my  brave  fellows,"  he  cried,  as,  with  un 
covered  head,  he  rode  calmly  along  through  the  smoke  and  danger 
— "  stand  your  ground,  brave  men,  and  do  no  shame  to  your 
officers.  You  have  a  name  to  preserve  unsullied,  and  a  country  to 
save  from  tyranny.  Be  resolute  for  both,  and  we  may  yet  win  our 
best  laurels  from  this  day's  struggle  !" 

They  received  his  speech  with  cheers. 

"Colonel  Dixon,"  said  he,  addressing  the  officer  in  command  of 
the  only  regiment  of  North  Carolinians  who  kept  their  places  in 
the  line — "  Colonel  Uixon,  close  up  and  feel  the  Maryland  regi 
ment." 

It  was  done  handsomely.  Surveying  the  prospect  as  he  rode,  in 
one  of  those  pauses  of  the  storm  that  indicate  the  accumulation  of 
the  masses  for  new  thunders,  and  seeing  that  his  flank,  which  had 
been  exposed  by  the  desertion  of  the  militia,  was  now  parti v 
covered,  the  noble  veteran  prepared  to  take  the  initiative,  and  to  an 
ticipate,  by  his  own,  the  charge  of  the  British.  His  orders  to  this 
« -fleet  were  delivered  with  the  tone  of  true  valour.  His  decision 
was  the  only  course  left  him  for  comparative  safety,  and  was  that 
of  a  sound  experience.  To  have  simply  received  the  assault,  with 
the  full  momentum  upon  him  of  the  rushing  masses  of  the  enemy, 
would  probably  have  been  the  annihilation  of  his  division.  He 
alighted  from  his  horse,  resolved  to  share  with  his  infantry  th«> 
full  perils  of  his  next  movement,  and  turned  the  beast  loose  in  the 
rear,  to  seek  safety  where  he  might.  The  well  trained  charger 
wheeled  about  with  the  platoons,  and  subsequently  went  into  the 
charge  with  the  rest,  as  if  his  bridle  had  been  governed  by  (he  will 
of  a  rider. 

De  Kalb,  meanwhile,  took  his  place  in  the  ranks  with  his  men  ; 
then  with  clear  shrill  voice,  his  sword  stretched  and  flaming  out 
along  the  pathway  to  be  traversed,  he  gave  command  for  the  last 
terrible  movement. 

The  loud,  clear  order  to  "  charge  bayonets !" — uttered  in  the  im 
perfect  totes  of  the  foreigner — was  heard  distinctly  along  the  line. 
It  ruled  over  all  the  sounds  in  the  confusion  of  the  strife.  Tt  found 


DE  KALB'S  ARDOUR.  471 

its  generous  echo  in  the  hearts  of  all  the  brave  fellows  in  thai 
devoted  phalanx.  They  seemed  to  have  caught  his  spirit — they 
certainly  shared  in  his  resolution.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation, 
the  whole  line  advanced  as  a  single  man.  Shouting  with  wild  hur 
rahs  as  they  pressed  forward,  the  little  space  which  separated  them 
from  the  enemy's  left,  commanded  by  liawdon,  was  soon  com 
passed  ;  and,  once  more,  the  opposing  torrents  were  mingled  toge 
ther  in  the  shock  of  battle.  The  rival  muskets  were  crossed,  their 
bayonets  linked,  and  for  a  few  seconds  the  opposing  armies  reeled 
to  and  fro,  like  so  many  limb-locked  and  coherent  bodies  ;  but  the 
rush,  and  the  enthusiasm  of  the  charge  of  De  Kalb,  were,  for  the 
moment,  irresistible,  and  Rawdon  fell  back  beneath  it. 

"Where  is  the  commander-in-chief  ?"  cried  De  Kalb,  in  a  fierce 
voice,  as  he  beheld  the  adjutant-general,  Williams,  advancing  with 
his  own,  the  6th  Maryland,  having  actually  driven  the  enemy  out 
>f  line  in  front 

"  Gone  !"  was  the  single  word  with  which  he  announced  to  the  old 
toldier  the  isolation  of  his  continentals. 

"  On,  then,  on  !"  was  the  immediate  shout  of  De  Kalb  ;  "  look 
not  to  the  right,  nor  to  the  left,  brave  men — but  on  !  You  are 
alone :  your  own  steel  must  work  out  your  safety.  Charge  !  on  ! 
Press  them  out  of  the  field !  Ha  !  Ha  !  Cold  steel,  my  brave 
fellows.  Cold  steel !" 

And  as  the  brave  division,  with  serried  arms,  rolled  forward  upon 
the  receding  foes,  the  baron  murmured — "  Oh  !  for  another  column, 
to  keep  what  these  fine  fellows  have  won  ! — Charge  !  Cold  steel  ! 
Cold  steel  !  Give  them  no  time  to  breathe  !" 

A  group — officers  and  soldiers — British  and  American — was  seen 
'truggling  in  front.  An  officer  was  down  ;  a  squad  of  soldiers  were 
seeking  to  despatch  him,  and  two  others  were  unequally  contending 
vgainst  them  with  their  swords.  The  wounded  officer  was  an 
\merican. 

"  Again — once  more,  my  brave  fellows — once  again — through 
hem  to  the  hearts  of  the  enemy — charge — charge  !"  was  the  fierce 
>rder  of  De  Kalb,  in  his  imperfect  English ;  "  through  them,  and 
ttop  for  nothing !" 

"But  the  officers  are  ours — they  are  n^es  to  the  general,"  coned 


472  THE    PARTISAN. 

Brigadier  Gist,  in  the  hope  to  arrest  the  desperate  charge  of  De 
Kalb,  and  save  the  Americans. 

"  And  we  are  men  !"  was  the  response — "  what  are  these  officers 
to  us  ?  Onward  1  over  them,  brave  men — once  more  to  the  hearts 
of  the  enemy !" 

The  group  sought  to  disperse  ;  the  assailing  soldiers  fled  away, 
leaving  the  wounded  officer,  and  those  who  had  been  fighting  in  his 
behalf,  alone,  before  the  charging  squadrons. 

"  Hold  !"  cried  Colonel  Walton,  for  it  was  he,  advancing  as  he 
spoke — "  hold,  I  pray  you,  Baron  De  Kalb  !  we  are  your  friends — " 

"  On  then — to  the  enemy  !"  ^,ried  De  Kalb,  unheeding  the  exhor 
tation  ;  and,  filled  with  his  own  fury^ — the  fury  of  desperation — the 
advancing  line  resolutely  obeyed  him  The  wounded  man,  and 
those  who  stood  beside  him,  must  have  been  crushed,  or  gone  along 
with  the  pressing  line ;  and  the  moment  was,  therefore,  full  of  peril 
to  the  group.  Presenting  his  sword  to  his  advancing  countrymen, 
Colonel  Walton  cried  to  the  wounded  officer,  .who  lay  almost  sense 
less  at  his  feet — 

"  I  will  share  your  fate,  Pinckney,  if  I  cannot  divert  it.  I  stand 
by  you  to  the  last.  Hold,  Americans  !  What  madness  is  this  ? — 
we  are  friends — would  you  trample  us  down-?" 

"  On  with  us,  then  !"  fiercely  cried  De  Kalb,  "  on  with  us,  if  you 
be  friends !  We  know  you  not  otherwise." 

"  He  is  too  much  wounded,"  cried  Walton,  pointing  to  the  insen 
sible  officer. 

"  This  is  no  time,  sir,  to  regard  the  dead  or  the  wounded.  The 
field  is  covered  with  both ;  shall  we  lose  all  for  one  man — officer 
or  soldier  ?  On  with  us,  Colonel  Walton — there  is  no  help  else. 
On!" 

It  was  the  last  command  of  De  Kalb,  who  was  already  severely 
wounded.  In  that  moment  the  fierce  onset  of  the  continentals  was 
arrested.  A  new  obstacle,  in  a  murderous  fire  from  the  right, 
restrained  their  progress.  This  was  from  Webster.  Having  tho 
roughly  defeated  the  American  left,  he  was  now  free  to  turn  his 
strength  upon  the  isolated  continentals.  This  small,  resolute,  and 
now  compact  body,  had  moved  forward  irresistibly.  The  fierce 
•pint  of  its  commander  seemed  to  have  been  shared  equally  with 


DEFEAT.  473 

bis  men ;  and,  though  evtiy  step  which  they  took  was  with  the 
loss  of  numbers,  they  had  ceaselessly  continued  to  advance — the  fire 
of  the  British  left  and  centre  still  telling  dreadfully  upon  them,  but 
without  shaking  thai-  inflexible  and  reckless  charge. 

The  sudden  movement  of  Webster  upon  their  flanks  first  arrested 
their  progress.  He  turned  the  whole  force  of  his  infantry,  together 
with  the  twenty-third  regiment,  upon  the  exposed  flank  of  the  first, 
or  Smallwood's  brigade.  This  had  been  commanded  bravely  by 
Colonel  Gunby,  and  other  of  its  officers,  the  general  himself  not 
being  available  for  some  time  before.  The  shock  of  Webster's 
charge  upon  this  body  was  irresistible ;  they  reeled  and  broke  be 
neath  it.  They  were  rallied,  and  once  more  stood  the  assault. 
They  stood,  however,  but  to  perish  ;  and  it  was  found  impossible  to 
contend  longer  with  the  vastly  superior  and  fresh  force  from  the 
British  reserve  which  was  now  brought  to  bear  upon  them. 

This  shock,  and  the  effect  of  Webster's  assault,  at  this  critical 
moment,  saved  the  life  of  Walton  and  that  of  his  wounded  friend, 
Major  Pinckney.  The  fierce  command  of  De  Kalb  was  no  longer 
obeyed  by  the  flank  regiment,  now  compelled  to  combat  with  ano 
ther  enemy.  They  faced  Webster  ;  and  Walton  found  himself  on 
the  extreme  left,  instead  of  being  in  front  of  the  body  which,  a 
moment  before,  had  been  ordered  to  pass  over  him.  In  another 
instant,  the  line  reeled  beyond  him  ;  he  saw  the  enemy  pressing  on, 
and  he  rushed  to  the  front  of  the  retreating  division  of  Americans. 
Again  they  were  brought  to  a  stand  ;  again  the  impelling  bayonets 
of  Webster  drove  them  backward ;  and  while  they  yet  strove 
bravely,  at  the  will  of  their  officers,  to  unite  more  compactly  toge 
ther  for  the  final  conflict,  the  shrill  voice  of  Tarleton  was  heard 
upon  the  left.  Then  came  the  rush  of  his  dragoons  ;  the  sweeping 
sabre  darting  a  terrible  light  on  every  hand,  and  giving  the  final 
impetus  to  that  panic  which  now  needed  but  little  to  be  complete 
throughout  the  army. 

"  Spare  !  oh,  spare  the  Baron  De  Kalb !"  was  a  cry  of  anguish 
that  went  up  from  the  centre  of  the  line.  It  was  doubly  agonizing, 
as  the  accents  were  uttered  evidently  by  a  foreign  tongue.  Walton 
looked  but  an  instant  in  the  direction  where  lay  the  old  veteran, 
feebly  striving  still  to  contend  with  the  numbers  who  were  now 


474  THE    PARTISAN. 

pressing  upon  him.  The  Chevalier  Du  Buysson,  a  faithful  frieiid, 
stood  over  him,  vainly  endeavouring  to  protect  him  by  the  inter 
position  of  his  own  body.  His  piteous  cry — "  Spare  the  baron  : 
spare  the  Baron  De  Kalb !"  had  little  or  no  avail. 

Eleven  wounds  already  testified  to  the  reckless  courage  of  the 
veteran,  and  the  earnestness  with  which  he  had  done  battle  to  the 
last  for  the  liberties  of  a  foreign  people.  The  bayonet  was  again 
if'ted  above  him  to  strike,  when  Colonel  Walton  pressed  forward  tc 
his  relief.  But,  with  the  movement,  he  was  himself  overthrown — 
himself  exposed  to  the  bayonet  of  the  enemy.  He  threw  up  his 
sword  and  parried  the  first  stroke  of  the  weapon,  which  glanced 
down  and  struck  deeply  in  the  grass  beside  him.  Another  pinned 
him  by  his  sleeve  to  the  spot;  and  his  career  in  the  next  momenf 
would  probably  have  been  ended,  but  for  the  timely  appearance  o^ 
Colonel  Tarleton  himself.  His  order  was  effectual,  and  Walton 
tendered  him  his  sword. 

"  Yon  have  saved  my  life,  sir :  my  name  is  Colonel  Walton." 

The  lips  of  Tarleton  wore  something  of  a  smiling  expression,  as, 
leturning  the  weapon,  he  transferred  his  prisoner  to  the  guardian 
ship  of  two  of  his  troopers.  The  expression  of  his  face,  so  smiling, 
yet  so  sinister  in  its  smile,  surprised  Walton,  but  he  was  soor 
taught  to  understand  it. 

The  battle  ceased  with  the  fall  of  De  Kalb.  It  had  been  hop;; 
less  long  before.  Turning  his  eyes  gloomily  from  the  thick  con 
fusion  of  the  field.  Colonel  Walton  moved  away  with  his  conductors. 
while  Tarleton,  with  his  eye  kindled  with  fight,  and  a  lip  that 
seemed  quivering  with  its  pleasurable  convulsions,  led  his  cavalry 
in  pursuit  of  the  fugitives,  marking  his  progress  for  twenty-two 
miles  from  the  field  of  battle  with  proofs  of  that  sanguinary  appetite 
for  blood,  waich  formed  the  leading  feature  of  his  character, 
according  to  history  and  tradition,  in  all  the  fields  of  Carol-na. 


CHAPTER    XLTV. 

A  stubborn  knave,  you  may  not  trust  or  tins 
Go,  bear  him  to  the  block  !    The  biting  ax* 
Shall  teach  him  quiet  hence." 

THE  victory  was  complete  in  all  respects.  The  army  of  Gates 
was  dispersed — that  general,  a  melancholy  wanderer,  hopeless  of 
fortune,  and  with  a  proper  self-rebuke,  dreading  the  opinion  of  his 
country.  The  loss  of  the  Americans  in  this  battle  was  heavy.  Of 
the  continentals  but  six  hundred  escaped ;  and  as  their  number 
was  but  nine  hundred  in  all,  they  necessarily  lost,  in  killed,  wound 
ed,  and  prisoners,  one  third  of  their  entire  force.  The  whole  num 
ber  slain  of  the  American  army  must  have  been  six  hundred  men 
— a  large  proportion,  in  a  small  body  of  three  thousand  and  fifty- 
two.  The  loss  admitted  by  the  British  commander  was  three 
hundred  killed  and  wounded — an  amount  certainly  unexaggerated, 
and  showing  conclusively  what  must  have  been  the  result  of  the 
contest  had  the  militia  done  their  duty, — had  they  but  stood  the 
first  round, — had  they  but  returned  the  fire  of  the  foe.  The  con 
tinentals  alone  bore  the  brunt  of  the  conflict,  and  they  were 
victorious  until  isolated  and  overborne  by  numbers. 

The  prisoners,  among  whom  is  included  Colonel  Walton,  weifi 
roped  by  the  command  of  Tarleton,  and  formed  not  the  least  im 
posing  portion  of  the  triumphal  procession  of  the  victor,  on  his 
return  to  Camden.  De  Kalb  died  a  few  days  after  in  the  arms  of 
Ou  Buysson,  his  aide.  His  last  words  were  those  of  eulogy  upon 
.the  gallant  troops  whom  he  had  so  well  trained,  and  who,  justify 
ing  his  avowed  confidence  in  them,  had  stood  by  him,  in  the  pre 
vious  struggle,  to  the  last. 

"  My  brave  division !" 

These,  in  broken  accents  and  imperfect  English,  were  his  last 
•Fords.  While  expiring,  his  eye  blazed  up  for  a  moment,  as  if  th« 


476  THE   PARTISAN. 

ardour  of  the  strife  were  again  burning  in  his  soul,  and  then  ite 
light  went  out  for  ever.  His  name  cau  never  be  erased  from  the 
history,  nor  his  memory  forgotten  by  the  people  in  whose  cause  he 
perished. 

A  different  fate  awaited  the  other  prisoners,  to  many  of  whom 
a  like  death  would  have  been  a  glad  reprieve.  The  vindictive 
feelings  of  Lord  Cornwallis  were  yet  to  be  satisfied.  The  banquet 
of  blood  which  the  late  battle  had  afforded,  had  quickened  and 
made  ravenous  the  appetite,  which,  at  the  same  time,  it  had  failed 
to  satisfy.  There  was  much  in  the  circumstances  of  the  period  to 
provoke  this  appetite  in  the  British  commander,  though  nothing  to 
justify  its  satiation  to  the  gross  extent  to  which  it  carried  him.  He 
had  seen  much  of  his  good  labours  in  the  province  entirely  over 
turned.  Deeming  the  country  utterly  conquered,  such  had  been 
the  amount  of  his  communications  to  his  king.  The  work  had 
now  to  be  begun  anew.  The  country,  so  lately  peaceable  and  sub 
missive,  was  now  everywhere  in  arms.  The  swamps  on  every  side 
of  him  began  to  swarm  with  enemies  ;  and  his  own  victory  over 
Gates  and  the  continentals,  though  unqualified  and  conclusive,  was 
burdened  with  tidings  of  the  performances  of  Sumter  on  the 
\Vateree,  of  Marion  on  Black  river,  and  of  many  other  leaders,  not 
so  distinguished  as  these,  but  highly  promising  for  the  future  in 
the  small  successes  of  the  beginning.  These  tidings  gave  just 
cause  of  irritation  to  the  mind,  which,  having  first  flattered  itself 
with  an  idea  of  its  complete  success,  now  discovers  that  all  its 
labours  have  been  taken  in  vain.  lie  grew  vindictive  in  conse 
quence,  and,  persuading  himself  that  a  terrible  example  was  neces 
sary,  if  not  for  justice,  at  least  for  his  cause,  he  ordered  a  selection 
to  be  made  from  among  the  prisoners  in  his  possession,  who  were 
doomed  to  expiate  the  guilt  of  patriotism  upon  the  gallows. 

The  streets  of  Cainden  were  filled  with  lamentations  the  day 
upon  which  this  determination  was  made  public.  This  was  three 
days  after  the  battle, — time  enough,  surely,  having  intervened  for 
the  subduing  of  his  sanguinary  temper.  Twenty  victims  were 
chosen  for  the  sacrifice,  ;m'i  among  them  was  Colonel  Walton. 
They  were  chosen  either  for  their  great  popularity,  or  for  their  re 
putation  as  special  malignauts.  The  former  class  was  selected  in 


MILITARY   EXECUTION.  477 

order  that  the  example  might  be  an  imposing  one ;  the  punishment 
of  particular  offences  was  the  ground  upon  which  the  others  were 
"  to  be  justified."  Yet  reasons,  if  "  plenty  as  blackberries,"  were 
not  readily  furnished,  or  cared  for,  on  the  occasion.  Even  the  trial 
which  preceded  their  execution  was  of  a  most  summary  and  nomi 
nal  character.  The  stern  commander  himself  presided,  with  a 
general  officer  on  either  hand.  The  prisoners  were  brought  before 
him  singly. 

"  Why  has  this  man  been  chosen  ?"  was  the  inquiry  of  Corn- 
wallis  to  Lord  Rawdon. 

"  Violation  of  protection,  my  lord  :    this  man  is  one  Samuel 
Andrews,  who  was  quiet  and  pacific  enough — full  of  professions- 
uutil  the  rebel  army  came  to  Lynch's  creek.     He  was  taken  on  the 
field." 

"  Take  him  away,  marshal,"  was  the  immediate  order.  "  To 
the  tree  with  him!"  The  man  was  removed.  "Who  are  these?" 

"Their  names  are" — Lord  Rawdon,  in  reply,  read  from  a  paper 
which  he  held  in  his  hand — "  Richard  Tucker,  John  Miles,  Josiah 
Gayle,  Eleazar  Smith,  Lorimer  Jones " 

"  No  more,"  cried  Cornwallis,  interrupting  the  reader.  "  Enough 
of  that.  They  are  all  brought  up  under  the  same  charge — are 
they  ?" 

"  All  but  one :  the  man  Gibson,  there,  in  the  blue  stripes,  is  little 
better  than  an  outlaw.  The  charge  against  him,  in  particular,  is, 
that  he  shot  Edward  Draper,  a  soldier  in  the  '  Queen's  Guards,' 
across  the  Wateree  river,  and  was  subsequently  taken  alone,  with 
out  connexion  with  any  military  body  whatsoever." 

"  The  insolent  outlaw  !  Advance  him,  guard — bring  him  for 
ward." 

The  man  was  singled  out  from  the  group.  His  irms  were 
hished  behind  him  with  cords,  but  he  moved  forward  as  if  perfect 
ly  unbound,  and  no  figure  could  have  been  more  erect.  He  had 
on  neither  coat  nor  jacket ;  his  shirt  was  torn,  bloody,  and  open 
at  the  breast,  displaying  beneath  the  fair  bosom  of  a  youth,  but  the 
full  muscular  development  of  the  man.  He  approached  the  table 
unsh rink' ugly,  striding  boldly  forward 'to  where  Cornwallis  sate, 
aiid,  with  an  upward  eye,  met  the  stern  glance  of  his  judge,  in- 


478  THE    PARTISAN. 

tended  to  be  au  overwhelming  one,  with  a  corresponding  look  of 
defiance. 

"  Stand  where  you  are,  sir  ! — we  desire  you  no  closer,"  cried  his 
lordship.  "  You  hear  the  charge  against  you  ?" 

The  man  did  not  stand  where  he  had  been  ordered,  but  con 
tinued  to  approach  until  the  table  only  intervened  between  himself 
and  his  lordship.  The  latter  repeated  his  inquiry. 

"  You  hear  the  charge  against  you  ?" 

"•I  do — it  is  the  truth.  I  shot  Edward  Draper,  a  corporal  :i 
the  Queen's  Guards,  across  the  Wateree." 

"  With  what  purpose  ?" 

"To  kill1  him." 

"  Ay,  we  suppose  that — but  what  did  you  propose  to  gam 
by  it  2" 

"Justice." 

"  J  ustice  ! — what  had  he  done  ?" 

"  Beaten  my  mother." 

"Why  did  you  not  apply  for  justice  at  the  first  station,  instead 
of  taking  it  into  your  own  hands  ?" 

"  I  did  ; — Lord  Rawdon,  there,  will  tell  you  why  I  took  it  into 
iny  own  hands." 

"  Well." 

"  He  denied  it  to  me." 

"  It  is  false,  my  lord,"  exclaimed  Lord  Rawdon ;  "  Draper  was 
severely  reprimanded." 

"  My  mother  was  beaten,  and  the  man  who  beat  her  was — 
reprimanded  !  I  did  not  think  that  enough  of  justice,  and  I  shot 
mm." 

The  evident  discrepancy  between  the  original  wrong  and  its 
punishment  by  Rawdon,  could  not  but  appear  evident  to  all  parties  ; 
and  Cornwallis  himself  was  almost  disposed  to  look  favourably 
upon  the  offender.  But  example — a  terrible  example — was  sup 
posed  to  be  necessary  to  keep  the  Drapers  of  the  army  from  being 
shot  on  all  occasions;  and,  with  this  belief,  he  was  determined  to 
shield  no  victim  from  his  fate,  who  exhibited  any  thing  like  a 
strong  and  decisive  character.  Still,  as  the  offence  was  rather  of 
a  private  than  of  a  public  nature,  the  commander  proposed  to  the 


DOOM.  479 

prisoner  the  usual  British  alternative  of  safety  at  that  period,  and 
under  like  circumstances. 

"If  I  pardon  you  your  crime,  Gibson,  will  you  at  once  take  arms 
for  his  majesty  ?" 

"  Never !"  was  the  quick  and  firm  response  ;  "  I'll  see  him  d — d 
first." 

"  Take  him  forth,  marshal,  with  the  rest.  See  that  they  suffe* 
instantly.  Away  with  him  !" 

The  stern  voice  of  Cornwallis  rang  like  a  trumps  ifiiutigh  the 
assembly ;  and,  as  the  sounds  died  away,  another  voice,  yet  more 
thrilling,  sent  forth  a  scream — a  woman's  voice-  -a  single  scream, 
and  so  shrill,  so  piercing,  so  woe-begone  and  sad,  that  it  struck 
through  the  assembly  as  something  ominous  and  unearthly.  A 
woman  rushed  from  behind  the  group,  and  threw  herself  before  the 
merciless  commander.  Jt  was  Gibson's  mother. 

"My  son — my  only  son  —he  is  all  I  have,  my  lord!  Oh!  spare 
him — spare  him  to  his  widowed  mother!  I  have  none  on 
earth  but  him  !"  was  all  she  said, — her  eyes  bent  upon  Corn 
vvallis,  while  her  linger  pointed  to  the  tall  and  manly  youth  beside 
her. 

"  Take  him  away  !  It  is  too  late,  my  good  woman — you  should 
have  taught  him  better.  Take  him  away  !"  was  the  stern  and 
only  answer. 

The  prisoners  were  hurried  forth ;  the  woman,  doomed  so  soon 
to  be  childless,  clinging  to  her  son,  and  shrieking  all  the  while. 
There  was  yet  another  victim.  Rawdon  whispered  the  commander, 
and  from  an  adjoining  apartment,  Colonel  Walton  was  brought 
before  his  judge.  Cornwallis  rose  at  his  approach  with  a  show  of 
respectful  courtesy,  then  again  quietly  resumed  his  seat. 

"  Colonel  Walton,  I  am  truly  sorry  to  see  you  thus — truly 
sorry,"  was  the  considerate  speech  of  his  excellency,  as  the  prisoner 
approached.  Walton  bowed  slightly  in  return,  as  he  replied — 

"  I  am  grateful  for  your  lordship's  consideration,  but  cannot 
withhold  my  surprise  tJrat  you  should  regret  your  own  successes. 
The  fortune  of  war  lias  made  you  the  victor,  and  has  given  me  into 
vour  power.  The  prisoner  of  war  must  not  complain  when  he  en- 
ixmuters  the  risks  which  should  have  been  before  his  eyes  from  the 


480  THE   PARTISAN. 

beginning,  no  more  than  the  victor  should  regret  the  victory  whiob 
he  sougKt  as  the  fruit  of  war." 

"  The  prisoner  of  war  !  I  am  afraid,  Colo»el  Walton,  we  cannot 
consider  you  in  that  character." 

"  Your  lordship  will  explain." 

"  Colonel  Walton,  a  subject  of  the  Kin6  of  Great  Britain,  found 
in  arms  against  his  officers,  is  a  rebel  to  his  authority,  and  incurs 
the  doom  of  one." 

"No  subject  of  the  King  of  Great  Britain,  sir!  I  deny  the 
charge.  I  am  not  his  subject,  and  no  rebel,  therefore,  to  his 
authority.  But  this  is  not  for  me  to  argue  now.  To  what,  may  I 
ask  your  lordship,  does  all  this  tend  ?" 

"  The  consequences  are  inevitable,  Colonel  Walton — the  traitor 
must  bear  the  doom— he  must  die  the  death  of  the  traitor." 

"  I  am  ready  to  die  for  my  country  at  any  hour,  and  by  any 
form  of  death.  The  prisoner,  sir,  is  in  your  hands.  I  will  simply 
protest  against  your  decision,  and  leave  it  to  the  ripening  time  and 
to  the  arms  of  my  countrymen  to  avenge  my  wrongs." 

"I  would  save  your  life,  Colonel  Walton — gladly  save  it,  would 
you  but  allow  me,"  said  Cornwallis  earnestly. 

"  My  dissent  or  assent,  my  lord,  on  such  a  subject,  and  undei 
present  circumstances,  is  surely  unnecessary.  The  mockery  of  such 
a  reference  is  scarcely  agreeable  to  me,  and,  certainly,  not  becoming 
on  the  part  of  the  conqueror.  The  power  is  in  your  hands,  my 
lord,  to  work  your  pleasure." 

"  We  will  speak  plainly,  Colonel  Walton,  and  you  will  readily 
understand  us.  As  you  say,  mine  is  the  power  to  command  your 
instant  death  :  and  whether  I  do  so  in  error  or  in  right,  it  matters 
not ;  it  will  avail  you  nothing.  I  would  save  you,  as  your  life, 
properly  exercised  for  the  royal  cause — for  the  cause  of  your  king, 
sir — will  serve  us  much  more  materially  than  your  death.  Your 
influence  is  what  we  want — your  co-operation  with  us,  and  not 
your  blood.  Twice,  sir,  has  a  commission — an  honourable  and 
high  commission — in  his  majesty's  service,  been  tendered  to  you 
from  me.  Twice  has  it  been  rejected  with  scorn  ;  and  you  are  now 
token  in  arms  against  his  maiestv's  troous.  having  violated  your 
solemn  pledge  to  the  contrary,  whicti  your  protection  insisted  upon." 


OFFER   OF   SAFETY.  481 

"  Wrong,  sir  !"  exclaimed  Walton,  interrupting  him-— "wrong, 
sir !  The  contract  was  violated  and  rendered  null  by  the  procla 
mation  of  Sir  Henry  Clinton — not  by  me." 

"  This  is  your  opinion,  sir ;  and  I  need  not  say  how  incorrectly 
entertained.  But,  as  I  have  before  said,  whether  justly  or  unjustly 
you  fall  a  victim,  witt  avail  you  nothing.  The  hanged  man  heeds 
uothing  of  the  argument  which  proves  that  he  was  hung  by  mis 
take,  i  have  the  power  of  life  and  death  over  you  in  my  own 
hands;  and,  believe  me,  Colonel  Walton,  in  opening  a  door  of 
safety  for  you,  I  am  offering  you  the  last,  the  only  alternative.  You 
shall  die  or  live,  as  you  answer  !" 

"  I  am  ready,  my  lord.  You  somewhat  mistake  my  character, 
if  you  think  that  I  shall  fall  back  from  the  truth,  because  of  the 
consequences  which  it  may  happen  to  bring  with  it.  Ha !  What 
is  that  ?" 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  sudden  blast  of  the  bugle,  a  confused 
hum  of  voices,  and  then  a  shriek.  Another,  and  another,  wild  and 
piercing,  rose  from  the  court  in  front.  At  that  instant,  a  soldier 
entering  the  apartment  threw  open  the  doors,  and  gave  an  oppor 
tunity  for  those  within  to  behold  the  awful  tragedy  that  had  been 
going  on  the  while.  A  single  tree  in  front  of  the  place  bore  twenty 
human  bodies ;  the  limbs  were  yet  quivering  in  the  air  with  their 
agonizing  convulsions,  and  the  executioner  was  not  yet  done. 

"  Close  the  door,  sergeant,"  said  Cornwallis  calmly.  Then,  con 
tinuing  his  exhortation  to  Walton,  he  made  use  of  the  awful 
circumstance  which  they  had  just  witnessed,  the  more  earnestly  to 
impress  his  desires  upon  the  mind  of  the  hearer,  and  produce  in 
him  a  different  determination. 

"  An  awful  doom,  but  necessary.  It  is  one,  Colonel  Walton, 
from  which  I  would  gladly  save  you.  Why  will  you  reject  the 
blessings  of  life  ?  Why  will  you  resist  the  mercies  which  still  seek 
to  prevent  the  purposes  of  justice?" 

"Justice  !"  was  the  scornful  exclamation  of  the  prisoner,  and  ali 
that  he  deigned  to  reply. 

"  Ay,  sir,  justice !  The  cause  of  the  rightful  monarch  of  this 
country  is  the  cause  of  justice ;  and  its  penalties  are  incurred  bj 
disloyalty  before  all  other  offences.  But  argument  is  needless  here." 


482  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  It  is — it  is  needless,"  said  Walton,  emphatically. 

"  And,  therefore,"  Cornwallis  proceeded — "  therefore,  sir,  I  coin 
fine  myself  to  the  brief  suggestion  which  I  now  make  you,  by 
the  adoption  of  which  you  will  escape  your  present  difficulties. 
Though  you  have  twice  rejected  his  majesty's  terms  of  favour,  he 
TS  reluctant  to  destroy." 

"  That  tree  attests  the  reluctance.  It  bears  its  own  illustration, 
my  lord,  which  your  assertion,  nevertheless,  does  not  need.  I  hear 
you,  sir." 

Somewhat  disconcerted,  Cornwallis,  with  a  show  of  rising  im 
patience,  hurried  to  a  conclusion. 

"  Once  more,  sir,  he  offers  you  safety ;  once  more  he  tenders  you 
an  honourable  appointment  in  his  armies.  Here,  sir,  is  his  com 
mission — take  it.  Go  below  to  the  Ashley  and  make  up  your  own 
regiment;  choose  your  own  officers,  and  do  for  him  what  you  have 
hitherto  fruitlessly  sought  to  do  for  his  enemies." 

"  Never,  sir,  never !"  was  the  conclusive  reply. 

"  Yet,  a  while,  bethink  you.  You  know  the  doom  else — death 
— the  gallows." 

"  I  know  it ;  I  have  thought :  you  have  my  answer." 

"  Then,  you  die — die  like  a  dog,  sir,  in  the  scorn  of  all  around  you." 

"  Be  it  s>o.  I  hope,  and  fear  not,  to  die  like  a  man.  My  country 
will  avenge  me.  I  am  read}' !" 

"  Your  country  !"  said  Cornwallis,  scornfully.  Then  turuiiig  to 
Rawdoii,  he  gave  his  order. 

"  My  Lord  Rawclon,  you  will  instantly  detach  an  especial  guard 
for  the  prisoner,  in  addition  to  that  whi^h  has  been  designated  to 
conduct  the  prisoners  of  war  taken  in  the  late  action  to  the  Charles 
ton  provost,  .lie  shall  go  with  them  to  Dorchester." 

"For  what?  with  what  object?  why  to  Dorchester,  my  lord  T 
was  the  anxious  inquiry  of  Walton. 

"  You  shall  die  there,  sir,  as  an  example  to  the  rebels  of  tha* 
quarter.  You  shall  sutler  where  you  are  most  known — where  your 
loss  would  be  most  felt." 

''Let  me  die  here,  my  lord!  I  pray  you  for  this  mercy.  The 
mere  place  of  execution  is  of  small  importance  to  your  object  Not 
there — not  there — almost  in  sight  of  my  child" 


DEATH.  488 

"  There,  and  there  only,  Colonel  Walton.  Your  doom  is  sealed  ; 
and,  refusing  our  mercy,  you  must  abide  our  penalty.  Make  out 
your  orders,  my  Lord  Rawdon,  to  the  officer  of  the  station,  Major 
Proctor ;  I  will  sign  them.  Say  to  him  that  the  rebel  must  be 
executed  at  the  village  entrance,  within  three  day 5  after  the  guard 
shall  arrive.  Take  him  away  !" 

Such  was  the  British  jurisdiction ;  such  was  the %  siurmiary 
administration  ot'  justice  under  Lord  Cornwallis.  These  items  are 
mostly  historical ;  and  fiction  here  has  not  presumed  to  add  »  single 
df,tle  to  the  evidence  which  truth  has  given  us  of  these  ovenis. 


CHAPTER    XLV. 


1  What  tad  despair  is  this,  that  braves  the  flora, 
Woild  battle  with  the  whelming  tides  that  heav*. 
Aad  pant  to  close  around,  and  strive  'o  cling, 
Ami  keep  the  victim  down  V" 


IT  was  a  fine,  but  warm  summer  afternoon,  in  August.  The 
Santee  river  ran  smooth  and  shining  like  a  polished  mirror  in  the 
unclouded  sunlight,  and  all  nature  appeared  to  revel  in  the  same 
luxurious  repose.  Our  old  acquaintance,  Porgy,  stretched  at  length 
along  the  banks  of  the  river,  lay  half  concealed  in  the  shelter  of 
the  brush  around  him.  The  spot  which  gave  him  a  resting-place 
•and  shelter,  shot  out,  at  this  point,  from  the  dead  level  strip  of 
shore,  boldly  into  the  stream  ;  which,  seemingly  vexed  at  the  inter 
ruption,  beat  with  a  pettish  murmur  upon  its  upward  side,  as  if 
vainly  struggling  to  break  through  it  in  its  downward  progress 
The  jutting  piece  of  land,  thus  obtrusively  trenching  upon  the 
water,  was  of  no  great  extent,  but,  being  well  covered  by  the  trees 
and  luxuriant  foliage,  it  formed  an  excellent  hiding-place  for  one 
desirous  of  watching  the  river  on  either  hand,  without  danger  of 
exposure.  Sweeping  around  the  point,  both  above  and  below,  the 
spectator,  thus  stationed,  might  see  for  a  few  miles,  on  both  sides, 
the  entire  surface  of  the  stream,  commanding,  in  this  scope  of  sight, 
one  or  two  of  the  usual  crossing-places  at  low  stages  of  the  water. 
The  river  was  probably  a  mile  wide  at  this  point,  not  including  the 
swamp,  which,  in  some  places,  extended  to  a  width  three  or  five 
times  that  of  the  main  body  of  the  stream.  From  this  dead  level 
of  swamp,  it  was  only  now  and  then  that  the  banks  of  the  river 
rose  into  anything  like  height  or  boldness.  The  point  now 
occupied  by  Porgy  was  one  of  those  places  most  prominent  of 
elevation.  On  the  upper  or  northern  side  of  the  river,  directly 
opposite,  there  was  another  bold  ascent  to  a  bank,  from  which  th« 


EVENING   PKOSPECT.  486 

ooats  usually  started  when  putting  across  the  stream.  This  bank 
was  easily  beheld  by  the  spectator  opposite.  The  trees  were  but 
few  upon  it;  and  its  baldness,  the  natural  result  of  the  frequent 
use  made  of  it,  contrasted,  not  unpleasantly,  with  the  otherwise 
unvarying  wall  of  woods  that  formed  the  boundary  of  the  main 
current.  The  trees  crowded  thickly  down  into  the  river  until 
their  bending  branches  met  its  embraces ;  and  their  tops,  some 
times,  when  the  freshet  was  great,  rested  like  so  many  infant 
shrubs,  depending,  without  root  or  base,  upon  its  swollen  bosom. 

The  afternoon  sun  streaming  from  the  west  along  the  river's 
surface,  its  beams  mingling  in  an  even  line  to  the  east  with  its 
current,  still  farther  contributed  to  the  softness  of  the  picture.  A 
warm  flush,  tempered  by  the  golden  haze  that  hangs  like  a  thin 
veil  over  the  evening  midsummer  prospect  jn  the  south,  subdued 
pleasantly  the  otherwise  blinding  effulgence  of  the  day.  The  slight 
breathings  of  the  wind,  only  equal  to  the  lifting  of  the  lightest  leaf, 
whispered  to  all  things — the  bud,  the  flower,  and  the  insect — of 
that  dreamy  indulgence  and  repose  which  our  well  kept  epicure, 
who  felt  always  and  appreciated  such  an  influence — had  stretched 
himself  oft'  to  enjoy — lying  at  length  under  an  overhanging  tree, 
lazily  watching  the  scene  around  him,  and  with  a  drooping  eye, 
that  seemed  to  say  how  irksome  was  the  task  which  he  yet  found 
himself  bound  to  execute. 

He  was  on  special  duty  even  then.  The  men  of  Marion  were 
all  around  him  in  the  swamp  on  the  southern  side  of  the  river. 
The  partisan  chief  was  full  of  anxiety,  and  his  scouts  and  guards 
were  doubled  and  spread  about  on  every  hand.  He  looked  hourly 
for  intelligence  from  Gates  and  the  continentals.  Not  that  he 
hoped  for  much,  if  anything,  of  the  army,  or  of  good  in  the  news 
which  he  anticipated.  He  had  not  been  persuaded — in  the  brief 
interview  which  had  been  vouchsafed  him  by  the  American  general, 
and  in  what  he  had  seen  of  his  command — to  look  for  or  to  expect 
much  from  the  then  approaching  conflict.  Marion  was  the  very 
opposite  of  Gates  in  nearly  all  respects.  Modest,  yet  nrm,  hia 
reliance  upon  himself  arose  not  from  any  vague  confidence  in 
fortune  or  in  circumstances,  but  in  the  timely  adaptation  of  corres 
ponding  means  to  ends,  and  in  the  indefatigable  industry  and  real 
21 


4:86  THE    PARTISAN. 

* 

with  which  he  plied  all  the  energies,  whether  of  himself  or  of  his 
men,  to  the  successful  attainment  of  his  object.  Gates,  he  had 
soon  discovered,  was  afflicted  with  his  own  infallibility — a  disease 
that  not  only  forbids  precaution,  but  rejects  advice  and  resists 
improvement.  How  should  he  receive  advice  who  is  already 
perfect?  Such  a  malady  is  the  worst  under  which  generals  or 
philosophers  can  labour ;  and  Marion  needed  no  second  glance  to 
perceive  the  misfortune  of  Gates  in  this  respect.  Ilis  confidence  m 
that  commander  was  lessened  duly  as  he  beheld  this  failing ;  and 
he  returned  from  the  camp,  if  not  full  of  forebodings,  at  least 
warmly  anxious  on  the  score  of  approaching  events. 

He  had  partly  fulfilled  the  duties  which  Gates  had  assigned 
him ;  he  had  traversed  the  Santee  and  Peedee,  breaking  up  the 
boats,  dispersing  the  little  bands  of  tories  as  they  leagued  together 
and  came  in  his  way,  and  contributed  largely  to  the  overthrow  of 
that  consciousness  of  security,  on  the  part  of  the  British,  winch 
they  had  hitherto  enjoyed,  but  of  which  they  were  deprived,  in 
greater  or  less  degree,  from  the  moment  that  Marion  rose  in  arms, 
and  led  what  was  called  the  Black  river  insurrection.  He  had 
now,  in  pursuit  of  the  same  objects,  brought  his  brigade  again  to 
the  Santee,  occupying  those  positions  along  that  river  by  which  he 
would  be  sooner  likely  to  receive  intelligence,  assist,  his  friends,  or 
harass  his  enemies. 

Lieutenant  Porgy,  on  the  present  occasion,  held  the  post  of  a 
sentinel.  This  duty,  at  such  a  juncture,  was  special  and  compli 
mentary,  and  Marion  employed  his  best  officers  upon  it.  A  good 
watcher  was  Porgy,  though  the  labour  was  irksome  to  him.  Could 
he  have  talked  all  the  while,  or  sung,  with  no  ears  but  his  own  to 
appreciate  his  melodies,  he  would  have  been  perfectly  content ; 
but  silence  and  secresy  were  principles  in  the  partisan  warfare,  and 
tenaciously  insisted  upon  by  the  commander.  Porgy  looked  easi 
and  west,  north  and  south,  without  relief.  The  banks  lay  beautiful 
before  him,  in  a  deep  quiet,  on  both  sides  of  the  river.  Near  him 
ran  a  dozen  little  creeks,  shooting  into  the  swamp — dark  and 
bowery  defiles,  whose  mouths,  imperceptibly  mingling  with  the 
river,  formed  so  many  places  of  secure  entry  and  egress  for  the 
canoes  of  the  warriors.  Stretched  along  the  grass,  he  might  b« 


GOOD    COUNSEL.-  487 

seen  to  survey  one  of  these  little  bayous,  with  au  increasing  heed- 
fulness  which  indicated  some  cause  of  disturbance.  Then  might 
you  r,ee  him  carefully  rise  from  his  luxurious  posture,  and  take  up 
his  rifle,  and  look  to  the  priming,  and  put  himself  in  the  attitude 
to  take  aim  and  fire ;  when,  presently,  a  shrill  whistle  reached  his 
ears ;  and  quietly  returning  the  signal,  he  crawled  along  the  bank 
towards  its  edge,  and  looked  down  to  the  little  creek,  as  it  wound 
in,  behind  him,  from  the  river.  The  signal  which  he  had  heard 
proceeded  from  that  quarter ;  and  from  the  recess,  a  few  moments 
after,  a  little  "  dug-out"  shot  forth,  propelled  by  the  single  paddle 
of  Lance  Frampton.  Concealing  the  boat  behind  a  clump  of 
brush  that  hung  over  the  mouth  of  the  creek,  the  boy  jumped  out, 
and  scrambling  up  the  sides  of  the  bluff,  was  soon  after  alongside 
of  the  pursy  sentinel. 

"  Harkee,  young  man,"  said  Porgy,  as  the  youth  approached 
him,  "  you  will  pay  dearly  for  good  counsel,  unless  you  heed  care 
fully  what  I  now  give  you.  Do  you  know  that  you  had  nearly 
felt  my  bullet  just  now,  as  I  caught  the  sound  of  your  paddle, 
before  you  condescended  to  give  the  signal  ?  A  moment  more  of 
delay  on  your  part  would  have  given  us  both  no  little  pain,  for 
truly  I  should  have  sorrowed  to  have  shot  you  ;  and  you,  I  think, 
would  have  been  greatly  annoyed  by  it." 

"  That  I  should,  Mr.  Porgy  ;  and  I  ought  to  have  whistled,  but 
'  did  not  think." 

"You  must  learn  to  think,  boy.  That  is  the  first  lesson  you 
should  learn.  Not  to  think,  is  to  be  vulgar.  The  first  habit  which 
a  gentleman  learns,  is  to  think — to  deliberate.  He  is  never  to  be 
taken  by  surprise.  The  habit  of  thinking  is  to  be  lost,  or  acquired, 
at  the  pleasure  of  the  individual ;  and  not  to  think,  is,  not  only  to 
be  no  gentleman,  but  to  be  a  criminal.  You  will  suffer  from  the 
want  of  such  a  .habit.  It  is  the  vulgar  want  always,  and,  permit 
me  to  add,  the  worst." 

"  I  try,  sir,  to  think,  for  I  know  the  good  of  it ;  but  it  takes  time 
to  learn  everything,  sir." 

"  It  does ;  but  not  so  much  time  as  people  usually  suppose.  The 
knowledge  of  one  thing  brings  with  it  the  knowledge  of  another ; 
as  in  morals,  one  error  is  the  parent  of  a  dozen — one  crime,  ih« 


«t88  THE    PARTISAN. 

predecessor  of  a  thousand.  Learn  what  you  can,  and  the  rest  will 
come  to  you;  as  in  fowling,' you  inveigle  one  duck,  and  the  rest 
of  the  flock  follows.  Talking  of  ducks,  now,  boy,  puts  me  in  mind 
of  dinner.  Have  the  scouts  brought  in  any  provisions  3" 

"  No,  sir — not  yet ;  and  no  sign  of  any." 

Porgy  loofcW.,  with  a  woe-begoue  expression,  towards  the  sun, 
now  on  the  decline,  and  sighed  audibly. 

"  A  monstrous  long  day,  Lance — a  monstrous  long  day.  Here, 
boy,  draw  this  belt,  and  take  in  another  button-hole — nay,  take  in 
two ;  it  will  admit  of  it." 

The  boy  did  as  he  was  directed — Porgy  stretching  himself  along 
the  grass  for  the  purpose  of  facilitating  the  operation — the  boy 
actually  bestriding  him ;  the  slender  form  of  the  latter  oddly 
opposed  to  the  mountainous  mass  of  matter  that  lay  swelling  and 
shrinking  beneath  him.  While  engaged  in  this  friendly  office,  the 
boy  started,  and  in  a  half-whisper,  pointing  to  the  opposite  shore, 
exclaimed — 

"  Oh !  Mr.  Porgy,  look !  the  deer  !  What  a  beautiful  shot !  I 
could  kill  him  here,  I'm  sure,  off-hand.  I  could  lay  the  bullet 
betwixt  his  eyes,  without  damaging  the  sight !" 

"  You'll  damage  mine,  if  you  show  me  such  sights  very  often  !" 
murmured  Porgy,  as  he  let  the  rifle  drop  heavily  to  the  ground. 
He  had  started  at  Frampton's  words,  followed  the  guidance  of  his 
fingers,  and  seizing  the  rifle,  had  taken  aim  without  a  word  ;  but 
immediately  after  he  remembered  his  special  duties,  and  was 
compelled  to  forego  his  prey.  Well  might  he  be  mortified.  Before 
him,  on  the  opposite  bank,  his  whole  figure  standing  out  beauti 
fully  in  the  sunlight,  in  perfect  relief,  was  a  fine  buck  of  the 
largest  size.  The  young  horns  were  jutting  out  like  great  spikes, 
giving  promise  of  the  glorious  antlers  which  he  would  wear  by 
Christmas.  Now  he  tossed  his  head  in  air,  now  seemed  to  snuff 
the  breeze ;  at  length  he  bent  his  nose  to  the  stream,  prepared  to 
drink,  and  anon  suspiciously  lifted  his  head  to  listen — in  all  these 
changes  of  attitude,  the  spirit  and  grace  of  the  beautiful  creature 
furnishing  a  fine  study  for  the  painter  not  less  than  the  gourmand. 

"Master  Lance  Framptou,"  continued  Porgy,  "  you  will  certainly 
be  the  death  of  me  You  show  me  a  deer,  yet  deny  me  a  dinner 


THE   FUGITIVE.  489 

Why,  boy,  the  beast  is  nearly  half  a  mile  z  way,  and  you  talk  of 
shooting  him  through  the  head !  I  could  sooner  pitch  you  on  hb 
back." 

The  boy  laughed. 

"  Don't  laugh,  boy  ;  it  is  too  serious  a  matter,  quite.  It  is  too 
provoking.  D — n  the  beauty  !  look  at  him — he  seems  to  see  us, 
and  to  know  our  mortification — mine,  at  least.  Now  could  I  be 
tempted  to  send  him  a  shot,  if  it  were  only  to  scare  him  out  of  his 
breath.  lie  looks  most  abominably  impudent." 

"  He  looks  scared,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  as,  starting  to  one  side  of 
the  bank,  and  towards  the  thickening  swamp  on  the  right  of  it,  the 
animal  seemed  to  show  alarm,  and  a  desire  for  flight. 

"  Yes :  something  has  frightened  him,  that's  clear  ;  and  what 
troubles  him,  may  be  equally  troublesome  to  us.  Lie  flat,  boy—  - 
draw  that  brush  a  little  more  in  front  of  you,  and  take  off"  your 
cap.  You  can  see  through  the  leaves  well  enough." 

At  this  moment,  a  whistle  behind  them  announced  a  friend,  and 
Humphries  joined  the  two  a  little  after. 

"  What  do  you  see,  Lieutenant  ?" 

The  gourmand  pointed  to  the  deer,  which  now,  in  evident  alarm, 
bounded  forward  a  few  paces  into  the  stream,  then,  swimming  a 
few  rods  up  the  river,  sought  a  cover  in  the  swamp  thicket  to  the 
right.  His  alarm  was  unequivocally  clear  to  the  partisans,  and 
Humphries,  following  the  example  of  the  two,  squatted  down 
beside  them  ;  taking  care  so  to  cover  his  person  behind  the  brush, 
as,  while  seeing  everything,  himself  to  remain  unseen.  He  had 
scarcely  done  so,  when  the  cause  of  the  deer's  alarm  was  made 
evident  in  the  approach  to  the  very  spot  upon  which  the  animal 
had  been  standing,  of  a  man,  in  the  common  dress  of  the  wood 
man.  His  appearance  was  miserably  woe-begone  and  unhappy. 
His  garments,  tattered  and  dirty,  consisted  of  the  coarse  stuffs  worn 
by  the  poorer  orders  of  the  country.  He  had  no-arms — no  appa 
rent  weapons  at  least,  of  any  kind ;  and  his  movements,  sluggish 
and  without  elasticity,  seemed  those  of  one  greatly  fatigued.  He 
threw  himself,  a  moment  after  his  arrival,  at  length  along  the  bank, 
with  that  air  of  listless  self- abandonment  which  indicates  exhaus 
tion. 


490  THE    PARTISAN . 

"  Poor  deviL !  lie  seems  wearied  and  worn,  Humphries." 

"  He  is  one  of  our  men.  Ten  to  one  he  brings  us  news  from 
camp." 

"  Bad  news,  then :  he  looks  like  anything  but  the  messenger  of 
good.  But  stay— what  is  he  about  ?" 

.  The  stranger,  while  they  spoke,  had  arisen ;  and,  leaving  the 
edge  of  the  bank,  went  back  to  the  wood,  from  which,  a  few  mo 
ments  after,  he  emerged,  bearing  in  his  hands  a  couple  of  common 
fence  rails.  These  he  bore  with  difficulty  to  the  edge  of  the  water, 
and,  though  no  burden  to  a  man  in  ordinary  strength,  their  weight, 
in  his  fatigue,  seemed  to  demand  more  than  ordinary  effort. 

"Why,  what's  he  going  to  do  now  ?"  said  Porgy. 

The  fugitive  threw  off  his  jacket  and  shoes,  and  taking  a  ragged 
handkerchief  from  his  pocket,  inclosed  them  within  its  folds,  then 
placing  them  over  the  two  rails,  which  he  laid  side  by  side  tor 
the  purpose,  he  lashed  them  strongly  together.  This  done,  he  ad 
vanced  to  the  stream,  taking  the  bundle  in  his  hands.  For  a  few 
moments  he  paused,  looked  up  and  down  the  river,  and  seemed  to 
hesitate  with  a  due  sense  of  caution ;  then,  as  if  ashamed  of  his 
fears,  he  rushed  to  the  water,  and  throwing  the  rails  before  him, 
boldly  plunged  after  them  into  its  bosom. 

"  The  ridiculous  booby,  he  will  certainly  drown  ;  he  can  never 
resist  the  current  in  his  present  state  !"  said  Porgy,  half  rising 
from  his  place.  Humphries  pulled  him  down  and  bade  him  be 
quiet 

"  But  we  must  not  let  the  poor  devil  drown,  Bill." 

"  We  must  do  our  duty — we  must  not  expose  ourselves  if  we 
can  help  it,  Porgy.  His  life  is  nothing  to  our  own  ;  and  we  don't 
know  who  comes  behind  him." 

"  That's  true  :  d — n  the  fellow — let  him  drown  I —  who  cares  ?" 

Meanwhile,  swimming  feebly,  striking  with  one  hand  while  the 
other  derived  a 'feeble  support  from  the  rails,  the  stranger  moved 
forward.  But  it  was  soon  evident  that  his  strength  was  that  of  a 
child,  in  opposition  to  the  current.  He  strove  desperately  to  keep 
a  direct  course  over  the  water,  but  every  movement  carried  him 
out  of  his  line,  and  the  sweeping  stream  resisted,  and  rendered 
futile,  the  feeble  dash  of  his  hand,  with  which,  striking  with  e*- 


THE    RESCLE.  491 

hausted  muscles,  but  no  little  will,  he  laboured,  as  earnestly  ?u- 
vainly,  to  make  his  way  across.  As  he  advanced  further  within 
the  current,  he  found  himself  still  less  able  to  contend  with  it ;  and 
the  partisans,  from  their  place  of  watch,  could  now  see  that  his 
almost  powerless  hand  was  just  raised  above  the  waier,  dropping 
into  it  feebly,  at  long  and  increasing  intervals,  without  impulsion, 
and  taking  no  purchase  from  the  stream.  He  certainly  ceased  to 
advance,  and  his  movement  now  was  only  with  the  current. 

"  We  must  help  him,  Humphries,  my  dear  fellow,  or  he  will 
drown  and  be  d — d,"  said  Porgy. 

"Oh,  yes,  sir — do  let  us  help  him  1"  exclaimed  Lance,  who  had 
watched  the  scene  with  an  anxiety  that  kept  him  starting  anxiously, 
with  every  movement  of  the  swimmer. 

"  If  it  must  be  done,  Porgy,"  said  Humphries,  in  reply,  "  there's 
only  one  of  us  that  can  do  it.  The  '  dug-out'  won't  carry  more,  and 
I'm  the  best  hand  at  the  paddles.  So,  keep  cool  and  quiet — don't 
cry  out,  for  we  don't  know  but  the  tories  may  be  after  the  fellow, 
or  maybe  the  British  ;  and  if  they  guess  at  Marion's  men  being  in 
the  swamp,  it'll  break  up  all  our  schemes.  Lie  close,  and  if  tha 
chap  can  keep  above  water  till  I  get  to  him,  I'll  save  him." 

With  the  words,  descending  quickly  from  the  bluff,  Humphries 
took  the  skiff ;  and  the  little  canoe,  under  his  powerful  arms,  soon 
shot  from  the  concealing  bush  where  Lance  had  left  it.  It  was 
not  long  before  the  swimmer  saw  him,  and  he  shouted  joyfully,  but 
very  faintly,  at  the  sight.  The  tones  were  so  feeble  that  the  boat 
man  threw  all  his  skill  and  strength  into  his  paddle,  sparing  no 
effort  to  reach  him,  as  he  felt  assured  that. the  man  could  not  long 
continue  the  struggle  with  the  heavy  setting  current  of  the  river. 

"Keep  up,  keep  up,"  Humphries  cried  out  to  him  in  encourage 
ment  ;  "  keep  up  for  a  little  while — only  a  few  minutes  more,  my 
poor  fellow,  and  I'll  fish  you  up  like  an  oyster." 

Words,  but  so  faint  as  to  be  undistinguishable,  reached  Hum 
phries  from  the  swimmer  in  reply.  The  sounds  only  were  audible, 
but  none  of  the  syllables.  The  canoe,  light  as  a  feather,  was  sent 
more  rapidly  than  at  first  towards  the  speaker,  as  Humphries  felt 
more  and  more  the  necessity  of  speed.  It  whirled  on  nearer  and 
nearer,  and  Lance  started  up,  and  clapped  his  hands  in  delight,  as 


192  THE    PARTISAN. 

he  beheld  the  swimmer  throwing  aside  his  frail  support,  and  grasp 
ing  firmly  the  gunwale  of  the  little  bark  that  had  so  opportunely 
come  to  his  assistance.  Supported,  without  effort  on  his  own  part, 
by  holding  upon  its  little  sides,  the  man  was  brought  safely  to 
shore  ;  Humphries,  with  all  the  dexterity  of  the  Indian,  having 
trimmed  and  propelled  his  frail  canoe,  even  though  thus  encum 
bered,  with  little  fatigue  and  apparently  as  little  effort.  The  ex 
hausted  swimmer  was  carried  into  camp,  and  soon  recovered  suffi 
ciently  to  unfold  his  intelligence  to  the  commander  of  the  partisans 
in. 


CHAPTER   XLVL 

• 

"  Now  let  ui  follow  in  the  quick  punuit." 

COLONEL  MARION  examined  the  fugitive  himself.  He  was  oce 
of  the  little  squad  of  Colonel  Walton,  and  had  susta  ned  the  battle 
in  the  regiment  of  Colonel  Dixon,  to  whose  North  Carolina  regi 
ment — the  only  one  that  had  stood  the  fight — he  had  been  attached 
by  Gates.  He  had  seen  the  first  and  last  of  the  battle,  and  had 
been  fortunate  enough  to  reach  one  of  the  swamps  which  lay  on 
the  flank  of  both  armies,  where  he  found  shelter  until  the  victor  had 
departed.  He  gave  the  whole  gloomy  story  of  the  defeat  in  broad 
colours  to  the  partisans  ;  and  though  he  could  say  nothing  as  to 
the  fate  of  Gates  himself,  and  the  several  officers  touching  whose 
safety  the  inquiries  of  Marion  and  of  Singleton  were  made  in  parti 
cular,  he  yet  knew  enough  to  assure  them  of  the  utter  dispersion 
of  the  army,  and  the  slaughter,  according  to  his  account,  of  at  least 
one  half  of  it.  His  farther  intelligence  was  important,  and  sug 
gested  opportunities  which  were  yet  available  to  our  partisans. 
He  had  seen,  and  with  difficulty  had  escaped  from  the  British 
guard,  which  had  been  despatched  by  Cornwallis,  having  custody 
of  the  continental  prisoners,  destined  for  the  provost,  or  common 
prison  in  Charleston.  That  guard,  he  informed  the  partisan,  had 
pursued  an  upper  road,  and  would,  according  to  all  probability, 
cross  the  Santee  at  Nelson's,  a  few  miles  higher  up  the  river. 

Burdened  with  baggage  and  prisoners,  they  might  not  yet  have 
reached  the  river  ;  and,  with  this  hope,  giving  his  signals  with  the 
rapidity  of  lightning,  Marion  collected  his  squad,  reso1ute  to  try  all 
odds,  however  inferior  in  number,  with  the  detachment  in  question 
The  rescue  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  continentals — for  that  was  tL 
least  number  of  captives — would  be  an  important  acquisition  to 
the  cause ;  and  a  successful  stroke  so  soon  after  such  a  defeat  at 
21* 


494  THE   PARTISAN. 

that  of  Gates,  might  have  the  beneficial  effect  of  restoring  confi 
dence,  and  giving  renewed  hope  to  the  paralysed  Carolinians. 

Himself  undespairiug,  Marion  adopted  his  plan  with  due  deter 
mination.  Dividing  his  force  into  three  parties,  he  gave  one  to 
Colonel  Hugh  Horry,  another  to  Singleton,  and  the  third  he  led  in 
person.  The  signal  sounded,  the  men  rose  from  their  hiding- 
places,  and  gathered  around  their  different  leaders ;  and  within  an 
hour  after  the  receipt  of  the  intelligence  just  given,  and  while  the 
sun  yet  shone  rich,  and  like  a  sovereign,  in  the  west,  the  partisans., 
were  all  mounted  upon  their  fleet  steeds,  and  dashing  up  to  (he 
spot  where  they  hoped,  and  prepared  to  receive  their  enemies. 
Silence  resumed  her  savage  empire  in  the  swamp,  and  the  grey 
squirrel  now  leaped  fearlessly  over  the  island  retreat,  which,  an 
hour  before,  he  had  trembled  but  to  approach. 

As  the  partisan  drew  nigh  the  designated  point,  he  obtained  in 
telligence  that  the  guard  with  the  prisoners  had  not  yet  crossed  the 
river,  but  had  marched  to  the  Great  Savannah,  a  little  above  it,. 
He  was  particularly  informed  as  to  their  number,  and  that  of  their 
prisoners,  though  nothing  was  yet  known  to  the  partisans  of  the  pe 
culiar  condition  of  some  among  them — the  doom  to  which  they  were 
destined,  or  of  those  who  had  already  been  sacrificed  to  the  vindictive 
spirit  of  the  British  commander.  All  this  they  were  yet  to  learn. 

Moving  now  with  greater  rapidity,  Marion  soon  crossed  the  river 
with  all  his  force  ;  and,  as  the  enemy  could  not  be  very  far  oil',  he 
proceeded  more  captiously.  He  sent  out  his  scouts,  and  as  they 
severally  came  in  with  intelligence,  he  prepared  his  farther  plans. 
Night  came  on,  and  he  was  ad'vised  that  the  British  would  most 
probably  lie  by,  on  the  main  road,  at  the  public-house  which  was 
kept  on  the  edge  of  the  Great  Savannah.  The  opinion  seemed  pro 
bable,  as  travelling  by  night  in  the  southern  swamps  was  no  part 
of  the  British  custom  ;  and  to  cross  the  river  after  dark  would  have 
been  a  risk  of  some  magnitude.  This,  however,  was  Marion  \i  fa 
vourite  mode  of  warfare  ;  and  calling  in  his  parties,  he  gave  direc 
tions  to  Colonel  Horry  to  make  a  circuit  round  the  savannah,  and, 
lurking  on  its  lower  edge,  gain  the  pass  of  Horsy  creek,  and  keep 
close  in  cover  until  he  should  receive  a  communication  how  to  pro- 
from  him. 


THE    SURPRISE.  495 

The  reckless  and  ready  officer  in  question  immediately  went  off 
in  obedience  to  his  commander.  To  Major  Singleton  a  similar  sta 
tion  was  intrusted  on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  where  the  woods 
were  open,  and  where  he  was  compelled,  as  the  sheltering  cover  was 
thin  and  imperfect,  to  bury  his  party  more  deeply  in  its  recesses 
than  would  otherwise  have  been  considered  necessary.  A  third,  and 
the  largest  division  of  his  force,  which  Marion  reserved  to  his  own 
command,  occupied  both  sides  of  the  road  above  the  designated 
house ;  while  a  detachment  of  selected  scouts  traversed  the  whole 
line  of  road,  bearing  intelligence  to  the  commander  as  promptly  as 
it  was  required. 

Unsuspectingly,  the  British  guard  marched  on  ;  and  duly  in 
formed  at  every  step  in  their  progress,  Marion  suffered  them  safely 
to  reach  the  house  at  which  they  were  determined  to  stop  for  tho 
night.  A  scout  of  the  partisan  looked  in  at  the  window,  disguised 
and  unobserved.  He  carefully  watched  the  progress  of  the  supper, 
saw  the  disposition  of  the  soldiers  and  the  prisoners,  and  left,  in 
safety,  his  place  of  observation. 

A  little  before  daylight  in  the  morning,  while  it  was  yet  quite 
dark,  an  officer  of  Marion  communicated  to  Horry  the  instructions 
of  the  commander.  Promptly  moving  forward  as  directed,  Horry 
led  his  men  to  the  house,  and  had  almost  reached  it  without  inter 
ruption,  but,  as  he  threw  wide  a  little  paling  gate  that  opened 
from  the  garden,  through  which  he  came  to  the  court-yard  of  the 
dwelling,  he  was-  challenged  by  a  sentinel.  Horry  not  answering, 
but  advancing  at  the  moment  with  alacrity,  the  sentinel  fired  his 
piece  unsuccessfully,  and  was  immediately  cut  down  by  him. 

The  alarm  was  given,  however ;  and  though  the  surprise  was 
effective,  it  was  incomplete.  A  pile  of  arms  before  the  door  was 
seized  upon ;  but  the  great  body  of  the  enemy,  partly  armed,  made 
their  escape  through  the  front  entrance,  and  immediately  pushed 
down  the  road. 

It  was  then  that  Singleton  charged  upon  them.     He  was  promp; 
ly  met.     Tho  guard  rallied  with  coolness  and  in  good  order,  and  the 
small  force  of  Singleton  was  compelled  to  give  back  before  them. 
But  Horry,  who  had  lingered  to  release  the  continentals,  now  came 
up,  and  the  contest  was  resumed  with  vigour.     The  British,  slowly 


496  THE   PARTISAN. 

moving  down  the  road,  held  their  way  unbroken,  and  fought  bravely 
at  brief  pauses  in  their  movement.  They  were  still  in  force  quite 
too  great  for  the  parties  opposed  to  them,  and  the  advantages 
gained  by  the  latter  were  those  chiefly  of  surprise. 

While  they  fought,  the  guard  divided ;  a  portion  of  them  car 
ried  Colonel  Walton,  with  such  other  prisoners  as  had  been  subjects 
of  special  judgment  and  particular  care,  to  the  cover  of  the  savan 
nah,  while  the  rest,  now  unencumbered,  continued  the  fight  valiantly 
enough.  But,  by  this  time,  the  troops  of  Marion,  all  fresh  rneu> 
rushed  in,  and  falling  upon  the  enemy's  rear,  they  soon  finished  the 
contest.  The  fight  lasted,  however,  for  an  hour  at  least,  and  the 
loss  of  the  British  was  severe.  The  partisans  not  only  rescued  all 
the  continentals,  one  hundred  and  fifty  in  number — all  of  the  Ma 
ryland  line — but  they  took  besides  twenty -two  regulars  of  the  C3d 
regiment,  including  their  captain,  and  sundry  other  prisoners.  But 
the  small  guard,  carrying  with  it  Colonel  Walton,  and  the  other 
South  Carolina  prisoners,  had  gone  clear  ;  and,  hurrying  under  good 
guidance  to  the  Santee,  while  yet  the  fight  was  going  on,  they  seized 
upon  some  of  the  boats  of  Marion,  and  were  safe  upon  the  other 
side  of  the  river,  and  speeding  upon  their  way,  before  the  conflict 
was  half  over. 

What  was  the  horror  of  Singleton,  when,  at  daylight,  the  released 
prisoners  gave  intelligence  of  the  destiny  of  Colonel  Walton,  and 
the  perfect  escape  of  the  guard  having  him  in  custody !  He  im 
mediately  rushed  to  his  commander  with  the  melancholy  narra 
tive. 

"  It  is  unhappy — dreadfully  unhappy,  Major  Singleton,"  said  the 
commander — "  but  what  are  we  to  do  ?  It  is  now  scarcely  possible 
that  we  should  overtake  them  ;  they  have  the  start  too  greatly  to 
'eave  us  any  hope  of  a  successful  pursuit,  and,  beyond  that,  I  see 
nothing  tliat  can  be  done.  If  they  do  indeed  execute  our  citizens, 
we  shall  only  be  compelled  to  retaliate." 

"  That,  of  course,  we  must  do,  Colonel  Marion,"  was  the  rejoin 
der;  "  and  I  am  willing,  sir,  that  my  name  should  be  the  first  on 
the  list  which  pledges  our  officers  to  the  practice,  and  incurs  the 
risk  which  such  pledge  involves.  But,  surely,  we  must  do  some 
thing  to  save,  not  less  than  to  revenge  our  countrymen.  I  bolierts, 


PROPOSED   RESCUE.  497 

Colonel  Marion — nay,  I  am  sure,  I  can  overtake  the  detachment 
Give  me,  sir,  but  twenty  men— the  men  I  brought  with  me  from 
the  Cypress.  They  will  volunteer  in  the  service,  they  will  risk  theii 
lives  freely  in  behalf  of  Colonel  Walton." 

Marion  regarded  the  earnest  speaker  with  a  melancholy  glance. 
He  shook  his  head  mournfully  as  he  replied — 

"  They  are  too  far  on  the  start — some  hours  the  lead  upon  you. 
It  is  impossible,  Major  Singleton,  that  you  should  overtake  them." 

"  Our  horses  are  superior — " 

"  But  not  fresh — no,  no  !  It  is  a  bad  business  ;  and  I  fear  we 
cannot  mend  it." 

"  You  will  not  suffer  a  brave  man,  a  good  citizen,  to  perish. 
Pardon  me,  sir — pardon  me,  if  in  my  earnestness  and  anxiety  I  seem 
to  overstep  the  bounds  of  propriety  and  privilege.  Pardon  me,  sir ; 
but  hear  me.  Permit  me  to  make  the  effort — let  me  save  him  if  1 
can.  Think,  sir,  he  is  a  man  of  great  influence  in  his  parish  ;  one 
highly  valuable  to  our  cause  ;  he  is  brave  and  virtuous — a  good 
citizen — a  father  1" 

"  All — all  these  I  grant ;  but,  look  at  the  prospect,  Major  Single 
ton — the  great  risk  to  all — the  little  hope.  After  this  defeat  of  the 
continentals,  the  region  to  which  you  propose  to  go,  will  be  one  of 
certain  doom  to  you.  We  shall  now,  ourselves,  have  to  hurry  far 
ther  from  the  Santee  ;  and  I  have  already  prepared  orders  to  march 
our  little  brigade  back  to  Lynch's  creek,  though  I  leave  you  and  the 
force  you  propose  to  take  with  you,  to  certain  destruction." 

"  Not  certain,  not  even  probable,  Colonel  Marion  ;  for,  believe 
me,  I  will  do  nothing  rash." 

Marion  smiled. 

"  Your  blood  even  now  is  boiling,  Major  Singleton ;  the  veins 
rise  upon  your  forehead — your  cheek  burns — your  lips  quiver.  You 
are  in  a  feverish  impatience  which  will  hurry  you  into  fight  with 
the  first  opportunity." 

"  Oh  no,  sir — no !  I  am  feverish — I  am  thirsting,  I  grant  you,  to 
strike  the  enemy  at  all  hazards ;  but  I  know  the  risk.  I  have  esti 
mated  the  danger.  The  section  to  which  I  go  has  been  exhausted 
of  troops  to  supply  the  army  of  Cornwall  e  at  Camden.  A  small 
force,  scarcely  superior  to  the  little  one  I  brought  with  me,  is  all 


498  THE   PARTISAN. 

the  garrison  at  Dorchester.  The  army  of  Cornwallis  will  press  the 
pursuit  of  Gates  into  North  Carolina  ;  the  results  of  so  great  a  vic 
tory  will  not  be  neglected  by  the  British  commander.  This  move 
ment  will  leave  the  country  free  for  some  time ;  and  they  have  iK>t 
men  enough  below  to  find  me,  or  rout  me  out  of  the  Cypress." 

But  Marion  thought  differently  as  to  the  probable  course  of  Coru- 
wallis.  He  knew  the  weakness,  not  only  of  the  British  army,  but 
of  the  footing  upon  which  their  cause  stood  in  the  country.  He 
knew  that  Cornwallis  had  quite  enough  to  do  in  South,  without 
exposing  his  army  in  North,  Carolina ;  and  he  shook  his  head  in 
reply  to  the  arguments  of  Singleton,  as  he  suggested  his  own  doubts 
of  their  validity. 

"  But  I  know  you,  Major  Singleton,"  he  continued ;  "  and  your 
claims  to  serve  and  save  your  relative,  if  you  can,  should  be  con 
sidered.  What  force  will  you  require  for  this  ?" 

"  Twenty  men,  sir ;  twenty  will  do." 

"  Take  thirty,  sir,  if  you  can  get  as  many  to  volunteer  from  the 
force  brought  with  you.  I  give  you  no  instructions.  I  will  not  fet 
ter  your  courage  or  good  sense  with  any  commands  of  mine.  But 
I  counsel  you,  sir,  not  to  forget,  that  neither  your  own,  nor  the  lives 
of  your  men,  are  at  this,  period  your  or  their  property.  You  be 
long  to  your  country,  Major  Singleton  ;  and  it  is  only  as  one  of  her 
sons  and  defenders,  that  I  am  now  willing  to  make  the  effort  to  save 
Colonel  Walton.  Proceed  now  with  what  speed  you  may ;  and 
if  safe  and  successful,  you  will  seek  me  out,  with  the  old  signals, 
somewhere  near  Black  Mingo.  Go,  sir ;  and  God  speed  and  pros 
per  you." 

The  acknowledgments  of  Singleton  were  hearty,  though  made 
in  haste.  He  hurried  to  the  men  of  the  low  country,  and  in  few 
words  made  known  the  circumstances.  Humphries,  Porgy,  Davis, 
the  two  Framptons — indeed,  all  of  the  original  party  from  the  Cy 
press — volunteered  instantly.  He  could  have  had  a  dozen  more  for 
the  enterprise.  Black  Tom  was  permitted,  after  some  difficulty,  to 
attend  the  party,  the  obstinate  negro  swearing  he  would  not  be 
left :  and  with  this  addition  to  his  limited  number,  Singleton  w»i 
•oon  in  saddle,  and  pushing  fast  in  pursuit  of  the  enenry. 


CHAPTER    XL  FIX. 

'  Then  bring  me  to  him.     He  shall  hear  from  mo, 
How  much  I  fear — how  much  I  dare  to  hope." 

THE  chase  was  unsuccessful.  The  pursuers  reached  the  Cypiesa 
without  having  overtaken  the  enemy.  The  fugitive  guard,  witn 
their  captives,  reached  Dorchester  in  safety.  So  did  our  Partisans, 
—a  little  after  them.  Once  there,  having  discretionary  power,  Sin 
gleton  proceeded  earnestly  to  do  what  he  could  towards  the  rescue 
of  his  uncle.*  The  good  sense,  the  skill  and  partisan  qualities  of 
Humphries,  all  came  into  excellent  exercise,  and  were  found  im 
mensely  important  at  this  crisis.  With  him,  Singleton  conferred 
closely,  and  immediately  after  his  arrival.  The  result  of  the  con 
ference  was  the  departure,  that  night,  of  Humphries  alone,  for  the 
village  of  Dorchester. 

Meanwhile,  the  individuals  of  the  party  in  the  Cypress  resumed 
their  old  places  and  habits.  Porgy  was  quite  at  home,  and  not  the 
less  pleased  that  the  eel-loving  Oakenburg  had  forborne  to  volunteer. 
He  soon  set  the  peculiar  talents  of  black  Tom  in  requisition ;  and 
a  little  foraging  furnished  the  scouts  with  a  sufficient  supply  for  tho 
evening  feast.  Of  this  we  need  scarcely  say  that  Singleton  ate  but 
little.  He  was  eminently  wretched  ;  and  as  he  wandered  gloomily 
along  the  edge  of  the  island,  he  was  not  unpleasantly  aroused  at 
hearing  the  wild  laugh,  and  at  meeting  the  wolfish  visage,  of  the 
maniac  Frampton  immediately  beside  him. 

"  You  are  come,"  said  the  wretched  man — "  you  are  come  to 
see  him.  You  shall  see  him  ;  he  is  there,"  pointing  with  his  finger. 
"  I  have  put  him  to  watch  her  grave,  and  he  watches  well ;  he 
never  leaves  it.  The  owl  and  he — they  watch  together,  and  one 
hoots, while  the  other  sleeps.  Come — you  shall  &oe." 

Singleton  could  only  conjecture  the  meaning  of  his  speech  ;  the 
scattered  rays  of  reason  illuminating  the  vain  obscurity  of  hit 


500  THE   PARTISAN. 

language,  even  as  the  faint  flickering  of  the  twilight  lighted  up  im 
perfectly  the  crowding  blackness  and  the  strange  cluster  of  objects 
around  them  in  the  swamp.  The  firelight  fell  on  the  cheek  of  the 
madman,  and  showed  Singleton  its  squalid  and  miserable,  not  less 
than  maniacal,  expression.  He  had  evidently  suffered  from  hunger 
as  well  as  woe. 

"  Come  with  me,  rather,"  said  the  partisan,  losing  for  a  moment 
the  feeling  of  his  own  wretchedness  in  that  of  the  unfortunate  be 
ing  before  him.  The  man  followed  quietly  enough,  and  Singleton 
led  him  to  where  the  rest  were  busily  engaged  at  supper.  Porgy, 
in  an  instant,  made  room  for  him  on  the  log  on  which  he  himself 
was  sitting :  at  the  same  time  he  broke  the  hoecake  before  him, 
and  gave  orders  to  Tom,  who  was  standing  conveniently  by,  to 
produce  the  remnants  of  certain  chickens,  in  the  procuring  of 
which  one  of  the  neighbouring  plantations  had  suddenly  suffered 
assessment.  But  the  wild  man  did  not  for  a  moment  notice  the 
invitation.  He  seized  Singleton  by  the  arm,  and  with  a  gentle 
pressure,  carried  him  through  the  circle  to  the  spot  where  his 
younger  son  was  sitting.  The  elder  rose  at  his  approach ;  but  him 
he  did  not  regard  for  a  moment.  But  when  he  looked  upon  the 
younger,  and  beheld  the  sword  at  his  side,  he  burst  into  one  of 
those  dreadful  laughs  which  seemed  to  indicate,  as  they  invariably 
accompanied,  every  occasional  symptom  of  his  mental  conscious 
ness.  The  boy  stood  up  before  him,  and  the  hand  of  the  maniac 
rested  upon  his  head.  His  fingers,  for  a  few  seconds,  played  with 
the  fine  long  hair  of  the  boy  ;  but,  as  if  satisfied,  in  a  little  while, 
he  dashed  away  from  the  spot,  and  hurried  back  to  the  supping- 
place  of  the  rest 

"  Poor  fellow — he  doesn't  seem  to  have  eaten  for  a  mouth," 
said  Porgy,  as  the  maniac  voraciously  devoured  the  meat  set  before 
him.  "  No  wonder  he's  mad — I  should  be  mad  myself,  I  doubt 
not,  'were  I  to  go  without  eating  even  a  day.  I  felt  something  like 
it  on  the  Santee,  one  day,  when  required  to  deliberate  and  not 
dine.  An  empty  stomach  justifies  insanity." 

The  maniac  ate  on,  heedless  of  remark  or  observation ;  but  ^ome- 
times  he  would  pause,  and  indicate,  by  a  slight  chuckle,  that  some 
Saint  gleams  of  perception  had  come  into  his  brain.  To  the  sur- 


THE    LANDLORD.  501 

prise  of  all,  he  did  not  depart  as  soon  as  he  had  eaten,  as  had  been 
hi?  usual  custom  heretofore;  but,  throwing  himself  under  ar  r.W 
tree,  he  seemed  disposed  to  follow  the  example  of  several  of  the 
rest,  who  had  resigned  themselves  to  sleep. 

Humphries,  meanwhile,  had  reached  Dorchester  in  safety.  The 
night  was  favouringly  dark,  and  he  trod  the  street  in  which  his 
father  dwelt,  in  perfect  safety.  He  penetrated,  with  cautious  steps, 
and  with  the  utmost  circumspection,  into  the  inclosure,  and  suc 
cessfully,  and  unseen  by  any,  made  his  way  to  the  stables.  Here 
he  remained  quiet  for  a  while,  until  the  hour  had  fairly  arrived  at 
which  the  tavern  was  usually  closed  for  the  night.  He  then  ven 
tured  out  of  his  hiding-place,  and  went  towards  the  dwelling,  lint  the 
"  Royal  George"  was  still  open,  and  still  full  of  guests.  A  couple 
of  British  soldiers  were  drinking  at  the  bar ;  and  there  were  some 
four  or  five  of  the  villagers.  The  old  landlord  had  been  listening  to 
some  narrative  which  had  greatly  awakened  his  attention.  It  could 
be  seen  that  he  was  in' that  awkward  situation,  when  a  man  finds 
it  difficult  to  laugh,  and  when  it  is  yet  expected  that  he  should  do 
so.  The  efforts  of  old  Humphries  in  this  way  were  very  unhappy. 
His  laughter  died  away  in  a  hoarse  chuckle ;  a  gurgling,  gulping 
sound  filled  his  throat ;  and  the  poor  fellow  turned  away  to  conceal 
tears. 

"  And  when  will  he  be  hung  ?"  asked  one  of  the  villagers. 

"  Friday — Friday  next,"  replied  one  of  the  soldiers,  gruffly ; 
u  and  that's  giving  him  a  d — d  sight  too  much  time  for  any  prayer 
that  he  can  make.  I'm  for  having  it  soon  over.  Just  the  same 
with  other  people  as  with  myself.  No  long-winded  speeches, 
say  I." 

"  Only  three  days  1"  continued  the  villager.  "  Well,  it's  a  great 
pity,  for  he  used  to  be  a  mighty  good  man,  and  quite  a  gentleman. 
And  then  there's  his  daughter,  Miss  Katharine — poor  girl,  I  wonder 
if  she  knows  it  ?" 

"  I  reckon  she  does,"  said  another  of  the  villagers,  "  for  I  seed 
the  family  coach  drive  in  not  an  hour  after  the  guard  brought  him ; 
and,  though  I  didn't  see  who  was  in  it,  yet  I  s'pose  it  couldn't  bo 
oobody  but  her." 

"  Yes,  she's  come,"  said  the  soldier  who  had  just  spoken,  "  anc 


602  TEE   PARTISAN. 

shea  been  to  the  major,  begging  him,  I  suppose,  for  mercj.  But 
it's  all  in  my  eye  and  Betty  Martin — the  major  can't  help  her 
much." 

"  Yet  they  did  say  that  Major  Proctor  had  a  liking  for  the 
young  lady.  Maybe  he  might  do  much  on  her  behalf  for  the 
father." 

"  He  can't,  even  if  he  would,"  said  the  soldier ;  "  the  order 
comes  from  Lord  Coruwallis  himself,  and  it's  as  p'inted  as  a  baghet, 
and  jist  as  positive  as  old  Jamaica.  The  colonel  has  done  all  he 
could.  He's  let  the  girl  go  to  her  father,  and  she  was  with  him 
when  I  left  the  garrison.  Shu's  going  to  put  herself  under  guard 
the  same  as  her  father,  to  be  with  him  all  the  time." 

"Poor,  poor  girl,"  muttered  old  Humphries,  hastily  turning 
away.  "  Bless  me,  where's  Bella  ?  Here,  Bella,  my  dear !" 

Taking  a  parting  draught,  the  soldiers  first,  and  then  the 
villagers  withdrew.  The  old  man  proceeded  to  fasten  the  doors ; 
and  when  this  was  securely  done,  the  yo'unger  Humphries,  who 
had  been  waiting  and  watching,  concealed  in  an  inner  apartment, 
made  his  appearance  before  his  rather.  It  was  a  meeting  of  rejoic 
ing  as  well  as  regret;  for  the  old  man  was  proud  of  his  son,  and 
loved  him  not  less  than  his  daughter.  There  were  long  stories 
told  between  them  which  do  not  concern  this  narrative.  But  all 
relating  to  Colonel  Walton,  his  daughter,  and  the  danger  before 
him,  was  drunk  in  by  the  son  with  a  greedy  interest.  He  ascer 
tained  the  place  of  the  colonel's  imprisonment ;  and  found,  to 
his  great  regret,  that  it  was  within  the  walls  of  the  fort  itself. 
It  was  there,  and  there  only,  that  Katharine  could  see  him.  It 
was  there  that  she  watched  and  wept  with  her  father  now ;  and 
the  soul  of  the  proud-spirited  girl,  mortified  in  many  respects, 
was  humbled  to  the  dust  as  she  contemplated  the  degrading 
doom  which  he  was  destined  to  undergo.  Death  on  the  battle- 
!ield  would  have  been  honourable  death,  in  her  estimation ;  and 
though,  even  now,  he  was  to  perish  in  the  cause  of  his  country. 
that  cause,  sacred  and  lofty  as  it  was,  could  not  lessen  her  horror 
of  that  disgrace  which  such  a  mode  of  death  brought  with  it.  The 
infamous  hangman,  the  deiiliug  rope  !  The  aristocratic  education, 
the  proud,  unbending  spirit  of  the  noble  girl,  revolted  whenever 


HUMILIATION.  503 

she  thought  upon  it.  She  shuddered  to  survey  the  picture  which 
her  imagination  continued  to  describe  before  her.  She  shuddered 
and  lay  couvulsed  at  the  feet  of  her  father. 

She  was  permitted  to  remain  with  him  throughout  the  day,  but 
was  compelled  to  leave  him  at  a  certain  hour  every  night.  This 
was  an  indulgence  of  Major  Proctor,  who  sympathized  with  her 
sufferings  with  all  the  feelings  of  a  man,  and  the  courtesy  of  the 
honourable  gentleman.  He  deplored  and  disapproved  of  the 
judgment  of  Cornwallis;  but,  according  to  that  strict  military 
etiquette,  upon  which  no  officer  insisted  more  rigidly  than  Proctor, 
he  forbore  any  utterance  of  opinion  in  respect  to  his  superior's 
proceedings,  and  only,  while  he  resolved  to  obey  them  rigidly,  pre 
pared  to  temper  his  severity  with  all  the  softening  indulgence 
which  was  left  discretionary  with  him.  Katharine  felt,  and  looked 
her  gratitude — her  consciousness  of  his  delicacy  and  forbearance. 
Still,  it  pained  her  pride  to  be  dependent,  even  to  a  degree  so 
sma-ll,  upon  her  country's  enemy.  She  felt  this  humiliation  also, 
but,  iwith  a  proper  good  sense,  yielding  to  circumstances,  she  showed 
no  sign  of  such  a  feeling. 

Humphries  gathered  these  particulars  from  his  father  and  sister. 
He  learned  that  even  at  that  moment  Katharine  was  at  the  garri 
son  ;  that,  as  the  gates  were  closed  at  ten  o'clock,  she  would  then 
be  compelled  to  leave  it ;  and  readily  conjecturing  that  she  had 
made  arrangements  for  remaining  at  Dorchester  during  the  night,  he 
now  felt  desirous  of  finding  out  her  place  of  residence.  There  was, 
however,  but  one  ready  mode  of  making  this  discovery,  and  as  the 
night  was  dark,  and  the  object  worthy  the  risk,  with  a  bold  deter 
mination,  he  made  his  arrangements  to  lurk  around  the  gate  of  the 
fortress,  until  she  should  make  her  appearance.  He  could  then 
follow  her  at  a  safe  distance,  and  thus  find  out  her  abode. 

No  sooner  determined  than  acted  upon.  He  sallied  forth,  and, 
by  a  circuitous  route,  reached  the  point  of  observation.  Here  he 
waited  not  long  before  the  old  family  coach  made  its  appearance ; 
and,  in  half  an  hour  after,  two  ladies,  escorted  by  as  many  officers, 
appeared  from  the  entrance.  The  ladies  were  assisted  into  the  car 
riage,  the  officers  returned,  the  gates  were  again  closed,  and  the 
vehicle  wheeling  about  to  pursue  its  way,  when  Humphries,  wtoo 


504  THE   PARTISAN. 

had  sheltered  himself  behind  a  tree  close  in  the  neighbourhood, 
now  boldly  leaped  forward,  and  mounting  behind  the  coach,  was 
carried  along  with  it. 

They  alighted,  as  he  had  anticipated,  at  the  lonely  dwelling  of  old 
Pryor.  The  sturdy  landlord  himself  came  forth,  and  pushing  aside 
the  negro,  assisted  the  ladies  from  the  carriage.  They  entered  the 
house,  and,  watching  his  opportunity,  Humphries  followed  them. 
The  moment  that  Pryor  was  disengaged,  the  partisan  sought  him, 
and,  in  private,  unfolded  himself  to  the  pleasantly  astonished  land 
lord.  A  few  moments  more  gave  him  an  interview  with  Katharine 
and  her  aunt.  The  guise,  garb,  and  expression  of  the  latter,  were 
stiff  and  old-maidish,  as  usual.  Not  so  with  the  former.  Her  eye 
was  wild,  her  hair  disordered,  her  cheeks  flushed,  and  her  step 
quick  and  convulsive,  while  her  lips  frequently  quivered  with  the 
thrilling  thoughts  that  were  present  and  working  in  her  mind. 
She  hurried  forward  to  meet  Humphries  upon  his  entrance ;  seized 
his  hand  with  unstudied  and  earnest  warmth,  and  hailed  him  as  a 
friend — as  one  sent  from  Singleton. 

"  I  cannot  talk  to  you  yet,"  said  she,  brokenly,  "  I  must  wait  for 
breath  ;  but  I  am  glad — oh,  very  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Sit  down,  Kate,  my  love,"  said  the  old  lady  ;  "  you  fatigue,  you 
afflict  yourself,  my  dear." 

She  sank  obediently  into  the  chair;  but  again  immediately 
started  up,  and  approached  the  partisan. 

"  I  cannot  sit — I  am  in  no  want  of  rest,  and  have  no  time  for  it. 
Oh,  Mr.  Humphries !  tell  me — speak  to  me — say  what  is  the  hope 
you  bring  me  ?" 

"  Major  Singleton — w 

She  interrupted  him. 

"  Ay — Robert — I  look  to  him  to  save  me — to  save  my  father 
Where  is  Robert  now  ?" 

"  In  the  Cypress,  Miss  Katharine — I  come  from  him  now  !" 

"  Thank  God  !  He  has  not  deserted  me — he  will  not  desert  me  1" 

"  Never,  Miss  Katharine,  I'll  answer  for  it ;  the  major  is  never 
the  man  to  desert  you,  or  anybody — never." 

"I  know  it — I  know  it,  Mr.  Humphries.  You  do  his  noble 
heart  only  -justice  when  you  say  so.  He  will  not  desert  me — h« 


FILIAL    LOVE.  505 

will  not  desert  my  father.  But  I  must  go  to  him — I  must  see  him, 
this  very  night.  He  must  tell  me  what  he  can  do — what  he  will 
try  to  do  for  me — in  this  horrible  necessity.  He  must  show  me 
that  he  will  save  my  father." 

And  as  she  spoke,  she  hastily  retied  the  strings  of  her  bonnet ; 
and  her  whole  manner  was  that  of  one  full  of  resolution. 

"  Why,  what  would  you  do,  my  child  ?"  asked  her  aunt. 

"  Go  to  Robert  Singleton." 

"  My  child,  don't  think  of  it — remember,  you're  a  lady — " 

"A  woman^-a  daughter!"  she  replied,  almost  fiercely.  "I  have 
no  fears — I  should  have  no  scruples.  If  there  be  danger  or  re 
proach,  I  will  risk  it  all  for*  my  father.  You  fear  not,  Mr.  Hum 
phries,  to  conduct  me  to  your  leader  ?" 

"  It's  an  ugly  road,  Miss  Katharine,  for  a  lady — mud  and  water, 
bog  and  bush,  and  mighty  crooked." 

"  Is  that  all !  shall  such  things  keep  me  back  from  my  duty, 
when  all  depends  on  it  ?  Oh,  no  !  These  are  trifles — your  diffi 
culties  I  fear  not."  Then,  turning  to  her  aunt,  who  had  now  risen 
and  seized  her  arm  persuasively — "  Oh  !  scruples,  aunt,  scruples. 
Do  you  think  I  see  and  feel  these  things,  when  I  see  death  and 
dishonour  both  sitting  on  our  hearth  !  I  must  go  !" 

"  The  major  will  be  mighty  glad  to  see  you,  Miss  Katharine,  I'm 
Certain ;  and  no  harm  can  come  of  your  going.  I  can  guide  you 
to  the  spot,  dark  or  daylight,  just  the  same ;  and  I'm  close  and 
cautious  enough  about  danger.  But  you'll  have  to  ride  horseback." 

"  I  can  do  it — I  can  do  it,"  she  cried  eagerly ;  "  that  will  be  no 
difficulty." 

"  Then  we  must  get  you  a  saddle  from  Pryor — that's  easy  enough 
too ;  for  I  know  he's  got  one,  and  he'll  be  quick  to  let  you  have  it." 

"  See  to  it — see  to  it  at  once,  Mr.  Humphries,  I  pray  you.  Let 
there  be  no  delay." 

Humphries  hurried  off.  The  aunt  strove  to  change  her  resolve, 
but  the  fearless  girl  was  inflexible. 

"  Robert  Singleton  knows  me,  aunt — thank  God  !  I  know  him. 
If  I  did  not,  I  might  listen  to  you  now.  Knowing  him,  I  freely 
confide  my  name,  my  life,  my  honour  to  his  keeping.  I  have  no 
fears — none.  But  since  he  has  come — since  I  have  heard  his 


606  THE   PARTISAN. 

name,  aud  seen  his  messenger — I  have  hopes — many  hopes — good 
hopes — sweet  hopes.  He  will  save  my  fathei  — he  will  try  with  all 
bis  soul,  and  with  all  his  strength  ;  and  God  must — God  will — 
prosper  him !'' 

Such  was  the  strain  with  which  she  rejected  her  aunt's  entreaties, 
aud  persisted  in  her  determination.  When  Humphries  reappeared 
with  Pryor,  announcing  his  determination  to  depart,  the  old  lady, 
rinding  she  could  not  change  the  resolution  of  her  niece,  was  for 
going  along  with  her  in  the  coach  ;  but  Humphries  resisted  the 
suggestion  as  impracticable. 

"  We  can't  run  the  old  coach  into' the  bush,  if  an  et.omy  pops 
into  the  road,  ma'am ;  and  it's  a  chance  we  may  have  to  do  that 
before  we  get  to  the  Cypress,  even  at  this  time  of  night.  The 
fewer,  the  easier  to  hide ;  the  smaller  the  bundle,  the  less  the 
hole  to  cover  it.  It  won't  be  an  easy  journey,  ma'am,  no  how, 
I  tdl  you." 

The  old  lady  was  soon  discouraged,  arid  consented,  though  with 
great  reluctance,  to  the  arrangement  which  separated  her  from 
Katharine.  The  latter  was  soon  ready,  and  carefully  mutiled  up  ; 
she  was  conducted  by  Humphries  to  the  edge  of  the  wood  where 
his  own  horse  had  boen  concealed,  and  to  which  spot  Pryor  had 
promptly  carried  that  intended  for  the  maiden. 

They  rode  with  spirit,  and  soon  reached  the  swamp.  Humphries 
carefully  chose  a  path,  which,  if  more  direct,  aud  more  exposed  to 
detection,  was,  at  least,  far  more  easily  travelled  than  that  which 
he  usually  pursued,  lie  conducted  her  into  safe  concealment  along 
the  little  rising  ridge  of  sand  which  Davis  had  previously  chosen 
for  his  proposed  fight  with  Hastings.  Here  lie  persuaded  !M  to 
remain,  until  he  should  go  to  the  camp  and  conduct  Singleton  to 
her.  She  did  not  hesitate  to  do  so  ;  the  arrangement  was  more 
agreeable'  to  her  in  many  respects,  as  it  spared  her  the  toilsome 
journey  through  the  worst  portions  of  the  swamp,  at  the  same 
time  that  it  promised  her  that  privacy  in  her  interview  with  Single 
ton,  which,  as  we  shalf  soe,  was  absolutely  necessary  to  its  pro 
gress. 

In  leaving  her,  Humphries  saw  no  impropriety.  He  knew  not 
of  any  danger  in  the  swamp  to  her  ;  and  she  was  c  'lite  too  much 


THE    INTRUDER.  507 

absorbed  in  the  thought  of  her  father's  danger,  to  thirk  for  a  single 
instant  on  the  subject  of  her  own  position.  1'he  spot,  u^.,  <pon  which 
she  stood  'had  nothing1  terrific  in  its  aspect.  The  trees  were  few, 
and  not  gl^rny  like  those  of  the  swamp.  The  stars  shone  down 
freely  over  tho  bank,  and  the  light  was  sweet,  though  faint,  as  it 
fell  glisten.iig  over  the  white  sands  upon  which  she  stood,  and  was 
freely  reflected  from  the  glazed  green  of  the  leaves  that  hung 
circling  about  her.  Alighting  from  her  horse,  her  trusty  companies 
fastened  him  to  a  hanging  bough,  and  promising  to  return  quickly, 
rode  onward  to  the  camp. 

lie  had  not  been  long  gone,  when  she  heard  the  rustling  of  the 
bushes  behind  her.  She  turned  towards  the  spot,  and  beheld  a 
gigantic  figure  emerging  from  the  copse.  The  intruder  was  the 
maniac  Frampton.  ilis  fierce  habits,  wild  aspect,  dismal  shriek, 
and  soiled  and  tattered  garments,  were  enough  to  startle,  not  a 
timid  maiden  only,  but  a  bold-spirited  man.  Katharine  might 
have  been  ulurmed  even  more  than  she  was,  had  he  appeared  to 
her  as  he  usually  appeared  to  others.  But  a  singular  change 
seemed  to  have  come  over  him.  His  step  was  irresolute — his 
manner  shrinking — his  countenance  full  of  awe.  He  continued, 
however,  to  approach  ;  and,  though  really  apprehensive,  the  maiden 
(irmly  held  her  ground,  looked  steadily  upon  him,  and  neither 
screamed  nor  spoke.  But,  as  he  continued  to  advance,  though 
slowly  and  respectfully,  she  gave  back  before  him.  He  then  ad 
dressed  her  in  a  strain  which  confounded  and  astonished  her. 

"Fly  me  not,  sweet  spirit — leave  me  not  in  darkness — hear  me 
— scorn  not  my  prayer — I  kneel  to  you — I  pray  you  for  pardon — 
have  I  not  loved — have  I  not  revenged  you  ?  You  know  it — you 
feel  it  —you  have  seen  it — fly  ine  not — I  will  do  more — I  swear 
it  on  my  knees.  Look." 

The  maniac  was  prostrate  before  her — his  face  prone  in  the  dust 
— his  hands  clasped  above  his  head — his  tones,  when  he  spoke, 
subdued,  and  full  of  humility.  She  was  more  terrified  at  what 
she  saw,  as  it  was  now  evident  that  she  was  alone  with  a  mad 
man. 

In  this  wav  crouching  towards  Her,  ue  continued  to  rave,  address 
-ag  her  as  an  angel — as  one  departed — acd  reminding  her,  a»  hit 


508  THE   PARTISAN. 

wife,  of  the  happiness  which  they  had  known  together — the  lov* 
they  had  borne  each  other,  and  which  he  prayed  her  still  to  cherisl 
for  him  in  heaven.  Approaching  footsteps  startled  him  just  as  he 
had  partly  risen  to  his  knees,  and  while  he  was  still  imploring  her 
after  this  fashion.  The  noise  brought  to  him  a  momentary  con 
sciousness.  He  seeined,  at  once,  to  realize  his  mistake ;  and,  with 
his  fearful  laugh,  bounding  away,  he  was  sheltered  in  the  neigh 
bouring  bush  before  Singleton  and  his  comrade  had  yet  reached  the 
spot  where  the  latter  had  left  the  maiden. 

Humphries  kept  aloof,  while  Singleton  met  his  cousin.  The 
scene  was  short  between  them,  but  how  full  of  all  that  was  sadly 
sweet — all  that  was  exciting  to  both !  She  rushed  towards  him 
as  soon  as  his  person  was  distinguished. 

"  Oh,  Robert !  I  have  come  to  you  a  beggar — a  woe-begone  beg 
gar.  I  have  no  hope  but  from  you — no  confidence  but  in  you. 
To  you — to  you  only — I  bend  my  thought — I  turn  my  eye — I 
look  for  life — my  life,  my  father's  life — all.  Save  him — save 
me!" 

"For  this,  Katharine,  have  I  come.  If  I  can  save  your  father, 
even  though  at  the  hazard  of  my  own  life,  I  shall  do  so.  You 
have  my  pledge  for  this." 

"  Thanks,  thanks,  dear  Robert !  my  heart  thanks  you.  But  what 
is  your  hope,  your  plan? — Tell  me  all,  that  I  may  calculate  on 
your  chances,  that  I  may  note  their  progress,  that  I  may  pray ! 
that  I  may  assist,  if  assist  I  can,  in  a  work  which  calls  for  men — 
for  manhood  only." 

The  question  troubled  Singleton.  What  could  he  tell  her  ?  He 
himself  knew  little  as  yet  of  the  true  condition  of  things  in  Dor 
chester.  No  time  had  yet  been  allowed  him  to  devise  a  scheme 
or  take  a  step  in  its  execution.  He  told  her  this,  and  she  heard  him 
with  impatience. 

"  But  something,  dear  Robert,  must  be  done,  and  quickly.  Do 
not  be  cold,  I  pray  you — do  not  deliberate  toe  long,  or  nothing 
will  be  done.  Hear  me,  Robert — hear  me  but  a  while.  You  came 
to  me  a  suitor — you  said  you  loved  me,  and  I  believed  you, 
Robert." 

He  took  her  hand.     She  continued — 


THE   BETEOTHAL.  509 

"  I  believed  you,  and  I  was  pleased  to  believe.  My  pride  and 
uiy  lieurt  both  rejoiced  in  my  conquest :  but  this  I  said  not — tb:« 
I  sbowed  not  to  you.  I  did  not  reject,  though  I  did  not  receive 
your  prayer.  Now,  hear  me — my  hand  is  in  yours — it  in  yours — I 
give  it  to  you  in  love,  in  pledge,  in  true  affection — it  is  yours,  and 
1  am  }<^ufs  for  ever.  Only  save  my  father — say  to  me  that  you 
will  save  him  ;  and  here,  in  this  solemn  place — these  dark  trees, 
and  the  spectre-like  stars,  only  looking  wanly  down  upon  us,  and 
bearing  witness — I  avow  myself  your  wife — yours,  at  any  moment 
after,  that  you  shall  name,  to  bind  me  such  for  ever." 

He  carried  her  hand  to  his  lips — he  kept  it  there  for  a  moment 
— then  releasing  it,  replied — 

"  And  does  Katharine  Walton  think  to  buy  _me  to  the  perform 
ance  of  a  sacred  duty  ?  Am  I  not  come  to  save  your  father  ? — to 
save  or  perish  with  him  ?  This  was  my  resolve  when  I  sued  for 
leave  to  pursue  the  guard  which  brought  him  to  the  village.  Even 
your  love  will  fail  to  add  anything  of  strength  or  spirit  to  my  de 
termination.  It  is  an  oath  in  heaven,  Katharine,  and  my  life  for 
his,  whether  you  love  or  hate,  whether  you  receive  or  reject  my 
prayer." 

"  Noble,  unselfish ! — true  friend,  brave  cousin  !  Yon  will  do  all 
for  me ;  you  are  determined  to  make  me  and  mine  your  debtor. 
You  will  not  be  bought  by  the  hand  which  I  haye  placed  in  yours 
— which  you  have  sought  for  years — as  you  would  leave  me  free 
still  to  any  choice  upon  which  my  heart  has  been  set.  You  are 
too  proud,  too  noble  to  take  advantage  of  my  necessities.  But  I 
will  not  be  outdone  thus.  I  will  now  become  the  suitor  in  turn  ; 
and,  Robert,  if  the  poor  charms  and  the  humble  virtues  of  Katha 
rine  Walton  be  not  all  gone,  in  the  eyes  of  her  cousin,  she  offers 
them  all — all,  without  pledge  of  service,  without  hope  of  recom 
pense,  without  anything  in  return,  but  the  noble  heart  and  the 
true  hand  which  he  once  proffered  to  her." 

Singleton  caught  the  high-minded  and  beautiful  woman  in  his 
arms:  the  first  sacred  embrace,  the  first  mutual  kiss  of  requited 
love,  hallowed  and  terminated  the  scene  between  them. 

He  rode  forth  with  her  on  the  way  to  Dorchester,  taking  a  cir 
cuitous  route  in  his  progress,  and  leaving  her  to  the  conduct  of 
22 


5 1 1)  THE     1'A  RT  ISA  N . 

Humphries  as  they  came  in  sight  of  the  village.  On  their  w.iy, 
he  gave  her  a  certain  message  which  she  was  to  bear  to  her  father 
— containing  advice  and  instructions  for  his  government.  He  also 
suggested — more  to  satisfy  her  impatience  than  with  any  cer 
tainty  of  their  adoption — various  plans  of  rescue.  Having  a  per 
fect  reliance  on  the  skill  and  courage  of  her  lover,  not  less  than 
upon  his  affections,  she  became  more  soothed  and  satisfied  by  what 
she  had  heard.  Her  hopes  grew  active  and  warm,  and  her  san 
guine  thought  already  beheld  the  freedom  of  her  doomed  sire,  ob 
tained  by  the  powerful  arm  of  her  adventures  lover.  Let  us  not 
however,  anticipate  events. 


CHAPTER    XLVIII. 

"  God  speed  the  good  endeavour !  for  it  stand* 
An  earnest  of  success  ;  thus  virtue  strives 
Still  hopeful,  when  most  hopeless."  « 

THE  nixt  night  found  Singleton  himself  in  the  village,  tie 
could  not  be  persuaded  by  Humphries  to  keep  away.  The  house 
uf  old  Pry  or,  who  was  ready  for  any  uproar,  received  him ;  and 
there,  concealed  even  from  Aunt  Barbara,  he  contemplated  the 
prospect  before  aim,  and  devised  more  fully  his  plans  for  the  rescue 
of  his  uncle.  His  fair  cousin  was  in  the  same  dwelling,  and  he  en 
gaged  her  company  at  such  brief  moments  as  he  could  steal  from 
his  labours,  and  she  fro:ii  the  presence  of  her  aunt.  Humphries 
was  in  the  village  also,  having  his  hiding-place  in  his  father's  stable- 
loft.  Obeying  his  instructions,  Davis  came  to  him  there  late  the 
same  night,  and  once  more  found  himself  in  the  presence  of  the 
fair  coquette,  Bella.  The  (Joose-Creeker  turned  upon  her  an  un 
friendly  shoulder,  and,  humbled  as  she  had  been  by  circum 
stances,  of  which  Davis  knew  nothing,  his  conduct  distressed  her 
to  a  degree  which  she  could  not  conceal.  She  turned  away  tc 
conceal  her  tears,  and  the  heart  of  the  trooper  smote  hiiu.  When 
she  retired,  Humphries  bluntly  asked  Davis  why  he  was  so  rough 
to  his  sister.  The  subject  was  a  delicate  one ;  but  the  person  ad 
dressed  was  a  plain-spoken  fellow,  who  did  not  scruple  at  any  time 
to  speak  what  he  thought.  Accordingly,  he  went  over  briefly  the 
whole  course  of  difficulty  between  them,  and  particularly  insisted 
upon  the  preference  shown  to  Hastings. 

"  But  he's  a  dead  man  ;  there's  no  fear  of  him  now." 
"  I  never  was  afeard  of  him,  Bill ;  but  then  I  didn't  love  him ; 
und  the  girl  that   did  can't  love  me,  for  there's  nothing  alike  be 
tween  us." 

« 

"  Oh,  pshaw,  man !  but  she  didn't  1  >ve  him,  you  see,"  said  the 


612  THE   PARTISAN. 

other.  "  I  know  all  about  it.  A  girl's  a  girl,  and  there's  no  help 
ing  it — she  will  be  foolish  sometimes.  There's  none  of  them  that 
don't  like  a  dozen  chaps  hanging  at  their  skirts — that's  the  fun  of 
the  thing  with  them ;  and  Bella  is  just  like  all  the  rest.  But  the 
girl  is  good  stuff  after  all,  you  see ;  for  though  I  did  think  when 
Hastings  was  dancing  about  her  that  she  had  a  liking  for  the  fel 
low,  I  soon  found  out  that  she  liked  somebody  else  all  the  time." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  Who  ?"  demanded  the  other,  violently 
and  hurriedly^  as  if  taking  the  alarm  anew  at  the  prospect  of  a 
rivalry,  which,  whatever  might  be  his  cause  of  anger  with  the 
girl,  he  had  no  desire  to  hear  of. 

"  A  man,"  replied  Humphries  coolly. 

"  Oh,  speak  out,  Bill.  I'm  sure  I  don't  care.  I  shouldn't  quar 
rel  with  him  for  it." 

"  No,  I  reckon  not  when  you  know  him.     His  name's  Davis." 

"  What  Davis  ?" 

"  John." 

"  Who — what — why,  you  don't  mean  me  ?" 

"You're  mighty  dull,  John  Davis,  for  a  man  that's  seen  so  much 
of  the  world.  That's  you,  for  certain — gospel-true,  now,  as  I  tell 
you.  Bella  Humphries,  my  sister  that  is,  has  really  a  greater 
liking  for  you,  in  your  way,  as  a  man,  and  a  good  swamp-sucker, 
than  for  any  other  man  body  that  I  know  of." 

"  But  Bill,  old  fellow,  you're  joking  now ;  it's  all  fun  and  fool 
ishness.  How  do  you  know,  now  ?  what  makes  you  think  so  ?" 
and  chuckling  and  sidling  close  to  his  companion,  Davis  wound 
his  arm  affectionately  round  the  neck  of  Humphries  as  i  listened 
to  this  narrative,  and  put  his  doubting  inquiries  in  reply. 

"  How  do  I  know  ?     I'll  tell  you." 

Hnffiphrite  then  proceeded  to  give  a  brief  account  of  the  dia 
logue  between  Bella  and  Mother  Blonay,  prior  lo  the  assault  of 
Hastings  upon  the  former.  We  need  not  describe  the  joy  of  Da 
vis  on  the  recital.  That  very  night  an  interview  between  the  co 
quette  and  her  lover  put  all  things  right  between  them. 

"  But  you  were  cross,  Bella,  you  know  ;  and  then  you  took  such 
pains  to  please  that  fellow." 

"  Yes,  I  was  foolish,  John ;  but  you  know  you  had  no  patience • 


THE   PLAN   OF   RESCUE.  518 

and  if  I  only  looked  at  any  other  body  than  yourself,  you  were  all 
in  a  blaze,  and  spoke  so  angry  that  you  frightened  me  more  than 
once.  But  you  won't  be  angry  with  me  again,  and  I  promise  I'll 
love  you  always,  and  you  only." 

Davis  made  similar  promises,  and  both,  perhaps,  kept  them 
With  this,  however,  we  have  nothing  now  to  do.  Enough  that 
the  Goose-Creeker  and  his  sweetheart  were  put  in  requisition  for 
the  contemplated  rescue.  Other  persons  in  the  village,  known 
whigs,  were  also  entrusted  with  parts  of  the  general  performance ; 
and,  in  the  brief  space  of  time  intervening  between  the  am  ru\  of 
Singleton  in  Dorchester,  and  the  day  of  execution,  a  bold  scheme 
had  been  prepared  for  the  rescue  of  the  destined  victim.  The  par 
tisan  discovered  that  the  whole  force  of  Major  Proctor  at  the  gar 
rison  scarcely  exceeded  the  command  of  a  captain ;  sixty  regulars 
was  the  estimated  number  given  him  by  Humphries.  The  greater 
part  of  these  would,  in  all  probability,  form  the  escort  of  the  solemn 
procession ;  and  these  were  too  numerous,  too  well  armed,  and  too 
well  drilled  for  Singleton's  little  force  of  thirty  men,  unless  he  could 
form  a  scheme  of  surprise,  by  which  to  distract  their  attention  and 
defeat  their  unanimity.  The  plan  was  suggested  by  old  Pryor, 
and  its  boldness  won  the  confidence  of  GUI'  hero. 

"  Here's  the  road,  Major  Singleton,  you  see — here's  the  red  clay 
hill,  and  here's  the  blasted  tree  that's  borne  better  fruit  than  waa 
ever  born  on  it.  Here  comes  the  red-coats,  d — n  'em,  I  say.  Now, 
look  here — here's  the  bush,  thick  enough  on  both  sides  to  cover  a 
troop  quietly.  You  fix  your  men  here,  and  here,  and  here;  and 
the  guard  comes  ;  and  here's  the  captain — he's  in  the  centre. 
What  do  you  want  then  ?  Something  to  make  a  noise  and  a  con 
fusion,  is  it  ?  Well-,  you  must  begin  with  the  crowd  ;  them  that's 
got  nothing  particular  to  do,  and  that  goes  only  to  look  on  : 
there'll  be  enougli  .of  them.  Hegiu  with  them,  I  say;  only  get 
them  frightened,  and  when  once  the  fright  begins,  it  goes  like 
wildfire  in  dry  gia*? — it  goes  everywhere.  First  the  people,  tneii 
the  soldiers,  all  get  it ;  and  them  that  don't  scamper  will  be  sure 
to  be  very  stupid.  When  that's  done,  all's  done.  Then  you 
tumble  among  'em,  now  on  one  side,  now  on  the  other,  cutting  up 
«nd  cutting  down,  shouting  and  screaming  all  the  while,  till  you'v* 


514  THE   PARTISAN 

* 

done  as  much  as  you  think  will  answer.  That's  what  you  want, 
is  it !" 

"  Yes,  let  us  ouce  create  the  panic  without  breaking  our  own 
little  force  for  the  purpose,  and  we  will  then  take  advantage  of  it. 
The  odds  then  will  not  be  so  great,  and  the  prospect  of  success  no 
longer  doubtful." 

Such  was  the  reply  of  Singleton,  whose  previous  suggestion.5. 
Pryor  had  only  adopted  and  reiterated  in  his  long  and  prosy 
speech.  The  old  man,  hitching  up  his  waistband  with  a  most  pro 
voking  gravity,  approached  the  chair  where  the  partisan  sat,  and 
whispered  a  single  sentence  in  his  ear. 

"  Can  you  do  it — will  you  do  it  ?"  was  the  quick  inquiry  of  Sin 
gleton. 

"  I  can— I  will." 

"  Then  set  about  your  preparations  directly,  and  I  shall  prepare 
for  the  rest." 

There  was  no  time  for  delay,  and  that  night,  after  the  return  of 
Katharine  from  her  customary  visit  to  her  father,  Singleton  sought 
her  in  private.  She  was  hopeful,  but  doubtful.  The  manner  and 
the  words  of  her  lover  strengthened  and  assured  her. 

"Katharine,  1  have  strong  hopes — very  strong  hopes,  though  we 
depend  greatly  on  circumstances.  We  have  many  agents  at  work, 
and  you,  too,  must  contribute.  You  must  go  to  '  The  Oaks'  to 
night,  and  provide-  horses,  as  many  as  possible,  and  of  the  fleetest. 
We  shall  probably  want  them  all.  Have  them  sent,  by  daylight, 
to  the  little  wood,  just  above  the — 

He  paused,  and  his  cheek  grew  pale.  She  understood  the  occa 
sion  of  his  pause.  But  her  spirit  was  strong,  greatly  nerved  for 
the  necessity ;  and,  at  the  moment,  masculine  in  the  highest  de 
gree. 

'•  The  place  of  execution — the  gallows — you  would  say.  Co  on, 
go  on,  Robert.  Let  me  hear — let  me  do." 

"  Yes ;  there — in  the  little  wood  above — I  shall  station  trusty 

men  to  receive  and  dispose  of  them.     This  you  must  do — and  do 

quickly ;  and  this  is  all — all  that  you  will  be  required  to  perform. 

To  me,  and  others,  you  must  leave  the  rest.     Go,  now,  Kate,  and'' 

-he  passed  his  arm  about  her,  and  his  voice  gre     tremulous — "1 


THE  CONFERENCE.  515 

shall  not  again  see  you,  Kate — my  own — my  love — until  it  is  all 
over.  If  I  fail—" 

"  You  must  not  fail,"  she  cried,  hurriedly,  starting  from  his  em- 
Drace,  and  looking  aim  >t  sternly  into  his  countenance.  "  Yon 
must  not  fail,  Robert;  rather  than  that— hear  me — my  father  must 
:iot  die  in  shame — the  gallows  must  not  pollute  him — the  rope 
must  not  dishonour  his  neck.  There  is  an  alternative — a  dreadful 
alternative,  Robert — but  still  an  alternative."  She  put  her  hand 
upon  the  pistols  at  his  side,  as  she  concluded  the  sentence,  wildly, 
but  in  a  voice  subdued  to  a  whisper,  "  If  he  must  die,  there  is 
another  mode — another.  Only  do  not  hesitate,  Robert ;  if  you 
cannot  save  him  from  death,  you  may  from  dishonour.  Fear  not 
to  spare  him  the  shame  which  is  worse  than  death  to  his  spirit, 
and  quite  as  dreadful  to  mine." 

She  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  sobbed  audibly  for 
an  instant. 

"  And  if  I  fall,  Kate—" 

"  In  life  or  death,  Robert,  I  am  only  yours."  She  had  with 
drawn  her  face  from  his  bosom  as  she  spoke.  Her  glistening  eyes, 
with  a  holy  earnestness,  were  fixed  upon  his  own,  and  truth  was 
m  all  their  language.  How  holy,  how  sweet,  how  ennobling,  how 
endearing,  was  the  one  kiss — the  last  embrace  they  took  that 
night!  That  night,  preceding  a  day  of  so  much — of  such  an 
awful — interest  to  them  both.  A  hurried  word  of  mutual  encou 
ragement — a  parting  prayer,  sent  up  in  unison  to  Heaven  from 
their  mutual  lips  and  united  spirits — and  they  separated — the 
one  to  pray  for  that  success  for  which  the  other  was  appointed  to 
fight. 

From  this  conference,  the  partisan  proceeded  to  another  with 
his  coadjutors,  Humphries  and  Davis.  The  whole  plan  was  then 
matured,  and  Bella  was  made  a  party  to  the  labour  by  her  brother. 
His  instructions  to  her  were  simple  enough. 

"  Bella,  you're  not  afraid  to  go  to  the  church,  just  before  day 
light  r 

"  Afraid,  brother  William  !  No,  Fin  not  afraid  ;  but  what  am  1 
to  do  there  ?" 

44  Listen.     Go  there  by  daydawn,  and  go  up  to  the  steeple." 


616  THE    PARTISAN. 

"  But  how  am  I  to  get  in  ?" 

"  Through  the  window ;  the  door  will  be  locked  fast  enough,  and 
no  getting  the  key  out  of  old  Johnson's  hands.  Get  in  at  the  win 
dow,  which  you  can  do  easy  enough,  and  keep  quiet  until  you  see 
the  soldiers  marching  off  with  the  colonel." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  Watch  them — you  can  see  everything  easy  enough  from  the 
tower.  Look  to  the  red  hill,  and  when  you  see  them  arrived  at 
the  foot  of  it,  set  the  bells  a-going  as  hard  as  you  can,  as  if  you 
were  ringing  for  dear  life ;  and  ring  away  until  you  cant  ring  any 
more, — you  may  then  stop.  That's  all  you've  got  to  do.  Will 
you  do  it «" 

"  But  what's  it  for— what's  the  good  of  it  ?" 

"  No  matter — I  can't  tell  you  now ;  but  it  must  be  done  by 
somebody,  and  you're  the  best  one  to  do  it.  Will  you  promise  me  ? 
— now  come,  be  a  good  girl,  Bella,  and  I'll  tell  John  Davis  all 
about  you." 

The  girl  promised,  and  the  conspirators  then  proceeded  to  other 
preparations,  which  were  deemed  essential  to  the  complete  success 
of  their  enterprise.  They  had  all  returned  to  the  twamp  long 
before  the  daylight  opened  upon  them. 


^    CHAPTER  XLIX. 

**  TIs  the  last  trial,  and  the  strife  must  come, 
Soon  to  our  peril.    But  the  heart  is  firm— 
The  rigid  muscle  setr- the  steel  prepared, 
And  the  thought  hopeful  of  our  full  success. 
The  gods  befriend  and  aid  us,  as  we  serve, 
And  battle  for  the  right ! " 

THE  day  dawned  beautifully  and  brightly.  The  sun  rose  without 
a  cloud  darkening  his  upward  progress,  and  the  richly  variegated 
woods  gladdened  in  his  beams.  The  air  was  balmy,  and  the  wind 
silent.  The  quiet,  slumberous  day  of  the  intense  summer,  unbroken 
by  warning  or  discordant  sounds,  and  alive  only  in  the  cheering 
scream  of  the  bird,  and  the  drowsy  hum  of  the  insect,  seemed  but 
indifferently  to  accord  with  the  bitter  and  the  gloomy  purposes 
of  man.  It  was  the  day  of  purposed  execution.  How  little  did 
the  spirit  of  the  unconscious  and  thoughless  nature  harmonize  with 
that,  having  an  immortal  hope  and  destiny,  yet  so  bent  upon  earthly 
strife,  so  busy  with  its  foolish  passions!  Alas!  that  man  should 
take  so  few  lessons  from  the  sweet  ministers  of  God — the  bird  and 
the  flower — sent  for  his  pleasure  and  his  profit,  and  which,  minister 
ing  innocently,  by  song  and  sweet,  to  his  happiness,  should  yet  so 
commonly  fail  to  teach  him  innocence. 

A  sad  scene  was  going  on  in  the  cell  of  the  destined  victim. 
His  daughter  kneeled  beside  him  at  daylight  in  his  prison.  She 
had  cheered  his  solitude  with  the  sunshine  of  her  own  sweet  and 
gentle  thoughts  —  she  had  whispered  hope  in  his  ears  when  he 
himself  refused  to  hope.  She  had  forgotten  her  own  griefs  while 
ministering  to  his  —  and  this  is  the  reward  which  virtue  always 
brings  to  duty.  How  happy  was  she  thus  to  minister!  how  point 
less  was  the  shaft  of  fate  to  him,  while  thus  he  listened  to,  and  felt 
her  tribute  ministry!  In  that  hour,  if  he  did  not  hope,  he  at  least 
felt  free  from  all  the  humiliating  emotions  of  despair.  What  if  the 
22* 


518  THE    PARTISAN. 

doom  came — what  if  he  suffered  the  cruel  indignity  and  the  painful 
death — had  he  not  heard — did  he  not  feel,  deep  in  his  soul,  the  pre 
vailing  force  of  those  prayers  which  the  lips  of  his  innocent  child  sent 
up  for  him  momently  to  Heaven? 

"Yet,  do  not  flatter  yourself  too  much,  my  daughter,"  he  said  to 
her,  in  reply  to  one  of  her  \ittered  anticipations  of  relief  from  Single 
ton.  "You  must  not  persuade  me,  at  least.  I  must  be  prepared; 
and  though  I  shall  certainly  contribute  all  in  my  power  to  cooperate 
with  Robert  in  any  effort  which  he  shall  make,  I  must  not  the  less 
prepare  to  encounter  the  last  trial  as  unavoidable.  Robert  will -do 
what  he  can,  I  feel  satisfied.  But  what  of  that?  His  force  is  small, 
inferior  to  that  which  guards  me,  and  desperation  only  may  avail  in 
in  what  he  attempts." 

"And  he  will  be  desperate,  father;  he  will  not  strike  feebly,  or 
heartlessly,  or  hopelessly.  Oh  no!  I  know  he  will  not.  He  is 
resolved  with  all  his  resolve,  and  you  know  his  spirit.  He  does  not 
say — he  will  not  tell  me  what  he  intends;  but  his  eyes  are  so  earnest, 
and  he  looks!  Could  you  but  have  seen  him,  father,  when  he  prom 
ised  me  to  save  you,  your  hope  would  be  like  mine;  you  would  not, 
you  could  not,  doubt  that  he  would  do  it." 

"  I  do  not  doubt,  my  child,  that  he  will  try — " 

"And  if  Robert  tries,  father — ' 

He  interrupted  her  sanguine  speech  and  the  implied  tribute  to  her 
lover,  folding  his  arms  about  her  neck,  as  she  knelt  beside  him,  and 
placing  his  lips  upon  her  forehead. 

"You  are  a  devoted  girl,  and  Robert  may  well  love  3rou,  my  child. 
Tell  me,  Katharine — it  will  do  me  good  to  know  that  his  affections 
are  yours,  and  that  you  have  not  been  unmindful  of  his  worth." 

"How  could  I — how?  Have  we  not  known  him  long  enough,  my 
father?" 

"God  bless  you,  Kate — God  bless  you!  This,  if  I  perish,  would 
still  be  a  redeeming  pleasure,  as  I  should  then  know  him  to  be 
well  rewarded,  and  be  sure  that  I  leave  you  with  a  protector.  Your 
loves,  my  child,  are  hallowed  with  my  blessings,  with  the  prayers  for 
your  good  of  one  who,  in  a  few  hours,  may  be  in  the  presence  of 
God  himself." 


FEARLESSNESS.  519 

She  clung  to  him  like  a  despairing  infant. 

"Speak  not  thus,  my  father — let  me  hope — do  not  make  me 
doubt  that  you  will  be  saved — that  the  bitter  cup  will  pass  by 
us." 

"Hope — hope  on,  my  child — it  is  your  duty.  Hope  is  one  of 
life's  best  allies — the  first  to  come,  the  last  to  desert  us.  But  I  need 
not  tell  you  to  hope.  You  cannot  help  it.  ^Ilope  and  virtue  are 
twins,  and  inseparable;  the  one  never  flies  until  the  other  deserts  the 
heart,  There  is  no  despair  for  the  good." 

' '  I  believe  it — I  trust — and  you,  too,  hope,  my  father,  if  this  be 
true.  I  feel  it  in  my  soul,  even  as  if,  at  this  moment,  I  beheld  it 
with  my  eyes.  A  good  spirit  at  my  heart — God's  spirit — is  there  to 
assure  me  of  my  hope." 

Thus  cheered  and  cheering,  the  two,  interrupted  only  occasion 
ally  by  the  entrance  of  the  colonel's  sister,  conversed  together  from 
daylight  until  the  approaching  noon.  But,  as  the  hour  drew  nigh 
assigned  for  the  execution — when  the  danger  began  to  assume,  as  it 
were,  a  bodily  form  and  pressure;  the  thoughts  came  thick  to  the 
mind;  the  doubts  grew  strong  and  oppressive  about  the  heart;  the 
fears  seized  upon  the  flickering  fancies;  and  imagination,  painting 
in  vivid  colours  the  dreadful  circumstances  of  the  approaching  time, 
to  the  mind's  eye  of  the  maiden,  greatly  served  to  overthrow  all  the 
stability  of  her  resolve — all  the  fine  soothing  of  her  hope.  She 
moaned  aloud  as  she  clung  now  to  the  neck  of  her  father.  In  that 
moment,  the  nature  of  the  man  grew  active,  and  the  contrast 
between  the  two  would  claim  the  art  of  the  painter  to  embody  to 
the  eye;  and  the  strong  imagination,  only,  could  depict  it  to  the 
mind  of  one  not  beholding  it.  He,  who  had  wept  with  her  before, 
was  now  erect  and  strong.  If  it  was  not  hope  that  strengthened,  it 
was  the  courage  ;ii:d  high  resolve  of  fine  moral  character,  strong  in 
conscious  integrity — strong  in  resolve — that  lifted  up  spirit  and  form 
alike,  defyingly,  in  the  face  of  death.  It  is  a  noble  picture,  that 
of  a  brave  man  looking  out  upon  danger,  and  fearlessly  preparing 
for  its  approach.  It  is  a  painfully  sweet  picture,  that  of  the 
frail  woman, — :  term  beaten,  storm-broken,  like  a  flower  stricken  to 
the  earth,  and,  in  its  weakness,  compelled  to  rest  upon  its  bosom; 
but  still  smiling,  still  cheering,  still  giving  forth  love  and  worship, 


520  THE   PARTISAN. 

even  as  the  flower  gives  forth  perfume,  and  ready  to  share  the  fate 
which  it  dreads,  but  which  it  has  not  the  strength  to  avert. 

Such  was  the  picture  in  the  dungeon  of  Colonel  Walton.  The 
masculine  spirit  was  already  composed  for  the  final  trial — the  last 
struggle  of  life  with  its  uncompromising  enemy.  The  man  was  pre 
pared  to  meet  death  with  unshrinking  resolution;  the  gentleman, 
with  grace  and  dignity:  and  when,  entering  his  dungeon,  Major 
Proctor  came  to  bis  prisoner — his  own  eyes  suffused,  and  his  deport 
ment  that  of  one,  himself  a  victim — a  victim  certainly  to  humiliation 
and  grief — to  announce  the  arrival  of  the  hour,  he  met  the  unshaken 
glance  and  carriage  of  one  who  seemed  rather  a  conqueror  than  a 
condemned. 

"Leave  us,  but  a  few  moments,  and  let  my  servant,  Csesar,  be 
summoned,  if  you  please.     He,  only,  will  attend  me." 

Proctor  bowed,  and  departed.  "Father— oh!  my  father— it  is 
not  the  hour — it  is  not  time  yet. — do  not  go— not  yet!  Robert  may 
not  be  ready — not  quite  ready.  He  has  to  come  from  the  Cypress 
— he  has  a  great  deal  to  do,  and  will  want  all  the  time  he  can  get," 

She  clung  to  him,  as  if  to  keep  him  back.  Her  eyes  were  start 
ing  from  their  sockets,  bloodshot  and  wandering.  Her  words  came 
chokingly  forth — her  frame  was  convulsed  and  shivering;  her  whole 
manner  that  of  one  in  whose  mind  reason  and  opposing  apprehen 
sions  were  earnestly  at  strife  for  the  ascendency.  He  lifted  her 
from  the  floor  as  if  she  had  been  a  child — his  own  nerves 
untrembling  all  the  while.  He  lifted  her  to  his  lips,  and  calmly 
kissed  her  cheek.  The  act  itself  told  more  than  words.  He  had 
treated  her  as  a  child,  and  she  understood  the  gentle  form  of  that 
rebuke.  She  tried  to  compose  herself,  and  her  words,  though  equally 
broken  and  incoherent,  were  far  more  subdued  in  their  utterance. 
How  tender — how  holy  was  that  brief  communion! 

"Katharine,  be  firm,  my  child — be  firm  for  my  sake.  Be  firm 
to  pray — to  pray  for  my  rescue;  nor  for  that  alone — you  must  be 
firm  to  act." 

She  grasped  his  hand,  and  looked  inquiringly. 

"Robert,"  he  continued,  as  she  listened — "Robert,  with  that 
good  sense  which  distinguishes  his  proceedings  always,  has  told 
you  nothing  plainly  of  his  present  plan.  He  knew  that  you  could 


THE    PARTING.  521 

not  well  comprehend  military  particulars,  and  lhat  you  would 
better  be  satisfied  with  his  own  general  assurance,  than  if  he  had 
undertaken  to  show  you  those  arguments  which  you  must  yet  fail 
to  appreciate.  To  teach  only  a  part  of  his  design,  would  be  to  leave 
the  inquiring  mind  doubtful  of  the  rest.  I  can  conjecture  the  design 
which  he  has  in  view,  in  part  at  least — and  the  horses  which  you 
were  required  to  send  him,  he  has  doubtless  prepared'  in  readiness  for 
me  along  the  road,  in  the  event  of  his  rescuing  me.  It  is  for  you  to 
contribute  something  to  the  same  object.  He  could  not  venture 
across  the  bridge,  and  he  therefore  made  no  arrangements  in  that 
quarter,  should  it  suit  me  to  shape  my  flight  to  that  side  of  the  river — 
a  desperate  man,  most  desparately  bent,  I  may  be  disposed  to  push 
through  my  enemies,  even  where  they  are  thickest.  In  that  event, 
there  should  be  horses  there  also.  You  must  see  to  this,  for  your 
aunt  has  none  of  the  necessary  energy.  Your  firmness  must  do  this, 
even  now.  Take  the  carriage  there,  and  there  remain  with  it.  It 
may  be  all  to  me,  and  the  trust  is  now  with  you." 

The  object  of  Walton  was  not  expressed  to  his  daughter.  He  had 
no  real  idea  that  he  should  need  any  such  assistance ;  but  he  well 
knew  that,  by  the  employment  of  her  mind  at  the  most  perilous 
moment,  in  a  labour  of  seeming  necessity,  he  should  divest  it  in 
reality  of  its  own  griefs.  Throw  reponsibility  upon  the  young 
mind,  if  you  would  seek  to  strengthen  it.  This  was  his  design  ;  and 
its  effect  was  instant.  The  belief  that- on  her  resolution  and  action, 
now,  so  much  was  to  depend,  alone  restored  and  strengthed  her. 
Yet  she  could  not  so  soon  recover,  and,  taking  her  last  embrace  almost 
in  a  convulsion,  she  was  hurried  away  by  her  aunt  from  the  mourn 
ful  dungeon,  a  few  moments  before  the  officer  appeared  to  conduct 
the  prisoner  to  the  place  of  doom.  Major  Proctor  himself  forbore  to 
attend  the  execution.  He  assigned  the  task  to  an  inferior  officer,  his 
duty  not  requiring  his  personal  presence.  A  strong  guard  was 
detached  from  the  garrison,  and  the  sad  procession  emerged  at  mid 
day  from  the  gates. 

Major  Singleton  had  well  devised  his  plans,  and  prepared,  as  fully 
as  in  his  power,  for  the  due  execution  of  his  purposes.  He  had 
brought  his  troop  before  daylight  to  the  spot  assigned  them.  To 


522  THE    PARTISAN. 

those  who  know  the  ground,  his  arrangement  will  be  readily  compre 
hended.  To  those  who  do  not,  a  few  words  may  be  necessary,  and 
will  certainly  suffice  for  explanation.  The  road  at  the  point  of  exe 
cution  was  on  the  easy  ascent  of  a  small  clay  hill.  The  woods  were 
thick  on  either  hand.  On  the  eastern  side  of  the  wood,  a  few  yards 
below  the  gallows,  a  small  track — a  common  wagon  or  neighborhood 
road — w7ound  into  the  forest,  making  a  turn  within  a  few  paces  from 
the  main  path,  which  effectually  concealed  it  at  thai  distance  from  the 
sight.  In  this  sheltering  place,  one-half  of  Singleton's  troop,  well 
mounted  and  ready  for  the  charge,  lay  concealed.  On  the  opposite 
side  of  the  main  road,  closely  hidden  in  the  wood,  some  thirty  paces 
above,  another  portion  of .  his  force,  similarly  posted  and  prepared, 
stood  in  waiting  for  the  signal.  Three  chosen  riflemen  were  assigned 
trees  at  different  points  of  the  wood  on  cither  hand,  commanding  tho 
scene  of  'execution.  They  were  closely  embowered  in  the  foliage  ; 
and  the  trees  intervening,  effectually  secured  them  from  sight,  even 
though  the  report  of  their  pieces  indicated  the  direction  in  which  they 
harboured.  Their  horses  were  hitched  to  swinging  boughs  in  the 
wood  behind  them,  ready  for  their  flight  the  moment  their  task 
should  be  finished.  Singleton  himself  led  the  party  destined  to  make 
the  first  charge.  To  Humphries  the  other  body  was  assigned.  No 
instructions  were  omitted,  necessary  to  bring  about  concerted  aclioii  ; 
and  the  minutest  directions — aye,  even  to  the  rifleman  who  \\vis 
required  to  lead  the  tire — were  insisted  upon  by  the  young  iiui 
thoughtful  partisan.  Such  being  the  preparation,  there  was  no  danger 
of  the  plan  failing  from  hurry  or  want  of  coolness. 

The  little  coquette,  whom  the  restoration  to  the  good  regards  of  John 
Davis  had  made  the  most  obliging  little  creature  that  the  village  had 
for  sometime  known,  did  not  forget  the  part  which  had  been  assigned 
her  in  the  duties  of  the  day.  Clambering  over  the  graves,  with  sonw 
little  feminine  trepidation,  she  made  her  way  into  the  church,  and 
from  thence  into  the  steeple,  while  the  stars  were  yet  shining  palely 
in  the  heavens.  She  had  her  dread  of  ghosts,  for  she  had  heard  a 
thousand  stories  of  their  nocturnal  habits  ;  but  then,  she  recollected 
John  Davis,  who  had  given  her  a  parting  admonition  to  do  ably  the 
task  assigned  her.  John  Davis  stood  to  her  at  that  moment  in  the 


WAITING    PATIENTLY.  523 

place  of  a  principle  ;  and,  like  many  thousand  others  of  both  sexes, 
she  always  understood  her  duties  best  when  they  came  through  cer 
tain  lips,  and  were  insisted  upon  by  a  certain  preacher.  Man-wor 
ship,  in  those  times,  as  at  present,  was  not  uncommonly  mistaken  for 
the  most  profound  worship  or  God. 

Here  she  watched  patiently  and  long.  Day  caine,  and  from  the 
tower  looking  forth,  she  beheld  his  rising  light  with  a  feeling  of  re 
lief,  if  not  joy.  The  first  faint  blush  that  drove  away  the  stars  from 
the  east,  almost  won  her  worship  on  this  occasion;  not  only  because 
it  relieved  her  gloomy  watch,  but  because  of  its  own  beauty.  How 
natural  is  the  worship  of  the  sun  !  How  idle  to  wonder  at  the  pagan 
who  sees  in  it  the  embodied  god  of  his  idolatory  !  He  speaks  for  a 
God  in  all  his  aspects,  and  is  worthy  of  homage,  not  only  as  he  so 
greatly  ministers  to  man,  but  as  he  is  worthy  of  the  Creator. 

Patiently,  hour  after  hour,  until  the  approaching  noon,  did  the  girl 
continue  close  concealed  in  the  steeple,  awaiting  the  moment  which 
should  call  for  the  execution  of  her  duties.  And  it  came  at  last. 
The  painful  and  mournful  notes  of  the  military  music  reached  her 
ear,  and  the  gloomy  procession  emerged  from  the  gate  of  the  garrison 
beneath  her  eye.  First  came  a  small  guard,  then  the  prisoner,  attend 
ed  by  a  clergyman,  and  then  the  main  body  of  the  guard  marching  on 
either  hand.  As  the  fearful  notes  resounded  through  the  village,  its 
inhabitants  came  forth  in  groups,  joining  the  melancholy  march,  and 
contributing  by  their  numbers  to  its  imposing  solemnity.  The 
prisoner  was  much  beloved  in  the  village  and  its  neighbourhood,  even 
by  those  who  had  taken  sides  with  the  invader;  and  the  knowledge  of 
this  fact  alone  made  the  hope  more  strong  and  active  in  the  bosom  of 
Singleton,  that  his  plan  must  be  successful.  He  felt  assured,  that,  in 
the  event  of  a  commotion,  none  of  the  natives  would  interfere  to  pre 
vent  the  rescue  of  AValtou  or  assist  in  his  recovery. 

The  heart  of  Bella  Humphries  thrilled  fearfully  as  she  watched  the 
procession.  The  imposing  martial  array,  the  georgeous  uniform  of 
the  British,  their  mie  regular  movement,  close  and  Avell  arrayed  order, 
and  gleaming  bayonets,  struck  terror  to  her  heart,  while,  they  aroused 
all  the  enthusiastic  admiration  of  her  mind.  Her  task  "Was  to  watch 


524  THE   PARTISAN. 

until  the  cavalcade  should  reach  a  certain  point,  which,  from  her  ele 
vated  position,  she  could  easily  behold  over  the  trees.  She  was  then 
to  sound  the  tocsin,  and  thus  furnish  the  expected  signal  to  all  the 
conspirators.  Firmly,  though  tremblingly,  she  looked  forth  upon  the 
array,  which  she  could  readily  distinguish  in  all  its  parts.  There  was 
the  prisoner,  seated  in  the  degrading  cart ;  there  was  the  priest  beside 
him ;  there  the  different  bodies  of  soldiers  ;  and  there,  hanging  upon 
the  skirts,  or  crowding  upon  the  sides  of  the  melancholy  procession, 
came  the  villagers  and  country  people.  She  could  even  distinguish 
Blonay,  and  his  hag-like  mother,  trudging  along,  at  a  hurried  pace, 
in  front  of  the  procession.  The  old  woman  hung  on  the  arm  of  her 
son,  who  seemed  but  partially  disposed  to  carry  such  a  burden.  The 
savage  had  not  lost  a  single  feature  marking  his  old  identity.  He 
was  the  same  lounging,  shuffling,  callous  wretch  that  we  have  before 
known  him  ;  and  his  slow,  indifferent  movement — for  here  he  had  no 
mischief  to  perform — was  the  subject  of  rebuke  with  his  own  mother. 

"  Come  now,  Ned,  my  boy — move  a  bit  faster,  will  you?  The 
people  are  coming  close  behind,  and  we  shall  see  nothing  if  they  get 
before  us." 

"  Why,  what's  to  see  mother  ?  Adrat  it,  there's  nothing  so  much 
in  a  fellow  hanging.  I've  seen  more  than  one,  and  so  have  you. " 

"  That's  true,  Ned  ;  but  still  I  like  it,  and  I  don't  care  how  many 
of  these  great  folks  they  hang  up  among  the  trees.  I  hate  'em  all, 
Neddy,  boy;  for  all  of  them  hate  you.  They  keep  you  down,  my 
son — they  trample  upon  you — they  laugh  at  you,  and  their  best  word 
to  you  is  a  curse.  God  curse  em  for  it ;  I  hate  'em  all. 

"Adrat  it,  but  you  can't  hang  'em  ;  and  so  what's  the  use  to  talk 
about  it  V  " 

"  If  I  could  ! "  she  muttered  bitterly  between  her  .closed  teeth.  The 
son  replied  with  a  laugh,  concluding  the  sentence — 

"  The  trees  would  be  full  of  such  fruit." 

"  Aye,  that  they  would  ;  and  I've  tried  for  the  power — I've  asked 
for  the  power  over  them  but  it  hasn't  come  to  me.  I've  got  out  of  my 
bed  at  midnight,  when  the  night  was  blackest,  and  I've  called  upon 
the  bad  spirits  to  come  to  me.  and  help  me  to  my  revenge  on  them 


THE   OLD   HAG'S   DESIRE.  525 

that  have  scorned  you,  and  spit  upon  you,  and  called  you  by  scornful 
names ;  but  I  had  no  learning,  and  so  the  evil  ones  'came  not  to  my 
aid,  though  I've  looked  for  'em,  and  longed  for  'em,  and  wanted  'era 
badly." 

She  spoke  in  a  language  of  disappointment ;  her  looks  and  manner 
both  corresponding  with  the  chagrin  which  her  words  expressed. 
Yet  she  complained  unjustly.  The  spirits  of  evil  had  been  serving 
her  to  the  utmost  extent  of  their  power ;  but  with  the  vulgar  mind 
always,  the  power  must  have  a  body  and  a  sign  to  the  external  senses, 
before  its  presence  will  be  recognized  or  understood. 

The  ill-favored  son  chuckled  at  the  disappointment  she  expressed , 
and,  with  a  taste  differing  from  her  own,  congratulated  her  upon 
their  indulgent  absence. 

"Adrat  it,  mother,  but  they  would  have  been  ugly  company  if 
they  had  come  ;  and  I'm  mighty  glad  they  didn't  listen  to  you.  They 
would  ha'  made  the  cabin  too  hot  to  hold  us." 

"  Fear  not ;  for  they  say  that  the  person  who  calls  them  can  keep 
them  down,  and  make  'em  only  do  what's  wanted.  I  wasn't  afraid  ; 
they  wouldn't  have  seen  me  tremble  if  they  had  come,  even  at  mid 
night,  when  I  called  them.  But  there  goes  another  that  ought  to 
be  strapped  up  too.  He's  another  great  man,  too,  and  has  scarlet 
cushions  in  his  pew  at  church,  while  I  must  sit  on  the  bare  bench  in 
the  aisle,  as  if  in  God's  house  some  are  to  be  poor  and  some  rich. 

"  Adrat  it,  mother,  hush,  or  they'll  hear  you.  Come  this  side,  out 
of  the  way  of  the  crowd — here,  to  the  left." 

"  Don't  carry  me  where  I  can't  see.  I  want  to  see  everything,  and 
you  must  get  me  a  place  on  the  hill." 

"  Why,  that  will  be  close  by  the  tree." 

"That's  what  I  want.  I  want  to  see  his  mouth  when  the  cart 
moves  off." 

"  D' n  my  heart,  if  I  stand  there  with  you  ;  I'll  go  higher  up ; 

and  so  must  you.     You'll  only  be  in  the  way,  mother,  to  go  there." 

"  But  there  I  will  stand,  for  my  eyes  are  bad,  and  I  can't  see  farther 
off.  You  can  leave  me,  if  you  don't  like  it.  I  can  stay  by  myself." 

"Adrat  it,  so  I  will.  I  can  see  very  well  at  a  hundred  yards; 
tliats  nigh  enough  for  me ;  and  I  don't  like  to  go  too  nigh  when 
people's  in  the  notion  of  hanging.  It  ain't  safe." 


526  THE    PARTISAN. 

He  hurried  tbc  beldam  to  the  hill  assigned  for  the  place  of  execu 
tion.  A  few  paces  only  separated  her  from  the  fatal  tree ;  and  she 
saw  all  the  desired  points  distinctly.  The  procession  moved  on  ;  the 
crowd  gathered  ;  the  tree  was  before  the  doomed  victim ;  and  the 
officer  in  command  riding  up,  ordered  a  halt  before  it,  and  proceeded 
to  make  his  arrangements,  when  the  bell  sounded :  a  single  stroke 
and  then  a  pause — as  if  the  hand  grew  palsied  immediately  after. 
That  stroke,  however,  so  single,  so  sudden,  drew  every  eye,  aroused 
ail  attention ;  and  coming  immediately  upon  the  solemn  feelings 
induced  by  the  approaching  scene  in  the  minds  of  all  the  spectators, 
it  had  the  effect  of  startling,  for  an  instant,  all  who  heard  it. 

But  when  it  was  repeated — when  the  painful  clamour  grew  quick 
and  violent,  and  the  rapidly  clashing  metal  thundered  forth  a  reck 
less,  unregulated  peal,  varying,  yet  continuous — the  surprise  was  com 
plete.  In  that  moment  a  new  terror  came,  close  following  upon  the 
first.  The  signal  had  been  heard  and  obeyed  by  the  other  conspira 
tors,  and  wild  cries  of  men,  women  and  children,  coming  from 
Dorchester,  aroused  in  painful  astonishment  those  forming  the  pro 
cession,  soldiers  as  well  as  people.  The  cause  of  the  alarm,  in 
another  instant,  seemed  explained  to  the  wondering  multitude  as 
they  looked  towards  the  village.  A  sudden  rush  of  flame — a  wide, 
high  column  —  rose  from  its  centre,  and  ascended  into  the  calm 
atmosphere  like  a  pyramid.  Another  and  another,  body  of  flame,  in 
different  directions,  and  the  now  distinguished  cry  from  the  village, 
announced  it  to  be  on  fire.  The  crowd — each  individual  only  think 
ing  of  his  family  and  household  goods — broke  on  every  side  through 
the  guard  clustering  around  the  prisoner ;  heedless  of  the  resistance 
which  they  offered,  and  all  unconscious  of  the  present  danger.  In 
that  moment,  while  the  alarm  was  at  the  highest,  and  as  the  officer 
.struggled  to  keep  his  ranks  unbroken,  the  rille  of  one  of  the  marks 
men  in  the  tree-top  singled  him  out  as  a  victim,  and  he  fell  beneath 
the  unerring  aim  which  the  rifleman  had  taken. 

It  was  then  that  the  bugle  of  Singleton  sounded— a  clear,  quick  and 
lively  note.  That  of  Humphries,  on  the  opposite  quarter,  responded 
n  id  the  charge  of  the  partisan  followed  close  upon  it.  •  The  officer 
next  in  command  to  him  who  had  fallen,  however  surprised,  cooly 
enough  prepared  to  do  his  duty.  He  closed  his  men  around  the  pris- 


SURPRISE.  527 

oner  with  the  first  appearance  of  danger,  and  when  the  rushing  horses 
were  heard  trooping  from  the  woods,  he  boldly  faced  in  the  direction 
of  the  expected  enemy. 

All  this  was  the  work  of  an  instant.  The  brands  had  been  well 
prepared  under  the  direction  of  old  Pryor;  and,  with  the  feeling  of  a 
true  patriot,  his  own  dwelling  had  been  chosen  by  him  the  very  first 
for  destruction.  He  had  piled  the  resinous  and  rich  lightwood  in 
every  apartment.  He  had  filled  it  with  combustibles,  and  had  so  pre 
pared  it,  that  the  blaze  must  be  sudden,  and  the  conflagration  com 
plete.  Three  other  houses  were  chosen  and  prepared  in  like  manner; 
and,  once  ignited,  their  possessors  rushed  away  to  the  place  of  execu 
tion,  crying  their  alarm  aloud,  and  adding  to  the  wild  confusion, 

Their  cries  resounded  violently,  with  a  new  and  more  emphatic 
burst,  as,  coming  out  of  the  village,  they  appeared  upon  the  road,  just 
as  the  bugle  of  Singleton  had  sounded  for  his  charge.  The  brave 
partisan  had  bent  all  his  energies  to  his  purpose,  and  he  now  gave  all 
his  spirit,  and  all  his  strength,  to  its  manful  completion.  His  first 
plunge  from  the  coppice  placed  him  in  front  of  a  presented  bayonet. 
Quick  as  thought,  he  wheeled  his  steed  to  the  right,  avoiding  the 
lunge  which  carried  the  soldier  forward.  While  the  fore  feet  of  the 
animal  were  yet  in  nir,  he,  as  suddenly,  wheeled  him  back  again,  and 
his  hoofs  were  beaten  down,  with  all  his  weight,  upon  the  body  of 
the  soldier,  who  lay  crushed  and  writhing  under  his  legs. 

This  movement  had  broken  the  bristling  line,  in  the  centre  of 
which  the  strong-limbed  partisan  now  found  himself.  He  did  not 
stop  to  calculate.  In  action,  alone,  lay  his  hope  of  safety  or  success. 
He  was  penetrating  the  square  in  which  his  uncle  was  a  prisoner.  The 
fatal  cart  was  before  him,  and  this  was  enough  to  give  new  vigor  to 
his  effort.  Right  and  left,  his  heavy  sabre  descended — a  sweeping 
death,  defying  the  opposing  steel,  and  biting  fatally  ut  every  stroke. 
He  was  well  supported  by  his  men,  and,  though  not  one-half  the 
number  of  his  enemies,  he  had  already  gained  a  decided  advantage, 
and  made  some  progress  toward  his  object,  when  the  charge  of 
Humphries  followed  up  his  success.  The  lieutenant  hurried  over  the 
ground,  cheering  and  shouting.  An  old  woman,  feebly  tottering  to 
the  roadside,  stumbled  along  the  path,  but  he  did  not  pause  in  his 
progress.  Indeed,  he  could  not.  The  troop  followed  him— horseman 


528  THE  PAETISAN. 

after  horseman  went  over  the  prostrate  body,  grinding  it  to  the  earth, 
until  there  was  as  little  human  in  its  appearance,  as  there  was  in  the 
heart  of  its  owner.  She  gave  but  one  cry — a  dreadful  scream.  It 
chilled  the  heart  of  the  brave  trooper,  as  the  hoofs  of  his  steed  went 
down  upon  her  breast.  He  knew  the  voice — he  heard  the  words — and, 
hag  as  she  was,  foul  and  malignant,  the  appeal  to  her  son,  in  the  last 
accents  of  her  lips,  was  touching  in  the  extreme.  It  was  his  name 
that  she  cried  in  her  death  struggle — and  Blonay  heard  the  cry.  He 
emerged  from  the  bush  where  he  had  been  sheltered;  but,  when  the 
contest  was  clear  before  him,  he  again  sank  back.  He  was  cool 
enough  to  see  that  nothing  could  save  the  beldam — he  was  calculating 
enough  to  risk  nothing  in  an  effort  so  hopeless.  Stealing  along  the 
wood,  however,  he  unslung  his  rifle,  freed  his  knife  from  the  sheath, 
and  prepared  to  take  any  possible  advantage  which  the  progress  of 
circumstances  might  afford  him. 

The  fight  grew  fearful  around  the  cart  in  which  the  prisoner  sat. 
The  clergyman  leaped  into  the  crowd,  dreading  that  conspicuousness 
in  the  affray  which  the  situation  gave  him.  Colonel  Walton,  alone, 
remained  within  it.  He  had  arisen,  but  his  hands  were  tied;  and, 
though  his  feet  were  free,  he  yet  felt  that  his  position  was  much  more 
secure,  as  long  as  the  sabre  only  was  employed,  than  it  would  be, 
without  weapons,  and  having  no  use  of  his  hands,  in  the  melee,  and 
under  the  feet  of  the  horses.  But  he  shouted  encouragingly  to  Single 
ton,  who,  indeed,  needed  now  no  other  encouragement  than  his  own 
fierce  frenzy.  The  fury  that  impelled  him  looked  like  madness.  He 
seemed  double-armed  and  invulnerable.  More  than  once  had  a  strong 
combatant  opposed  him,  and  hopelessly.  He  had  ploughed  his  way 
through  the  living  wall,  with  a  steel  and  strength  equally  irresistible. 

"Courage,  uncle — courage!  Can  you  do  nothing  for  yourself?" 
And  striking  as  he  spoke,  down  went  another  soldier. 

"I  am  tied,"  was  the  reply,  as  quickly.  In  the  next  moment, 
leaping  from  his  horse  into  the  centre  of  the  vehicle,  Lance  Frampton 
applied  his  knife  to  the  cords. 

"  Hurrah  I"  was  the  cheering  cry  of  the  partisans,  as  the  prisoner 
clapped  his  hands  in  the  air,  showing  their  enlargement.  A  soldier 
seized  the  horse  which  drew  the  cart,  by  the  bridle,  and  turning 
his  head  among  the  crowd,  sought  to  lead  him  off.  But  the  sabre 


WALTON"   RESCUED.  529 

of  Singleton  —  seemingly  aimed  at  the  soldier,  who  dodged  it  by 
Sinking  down  while  yet  holding  upon  the  bridle  — was  adroitly 
intended  for  the  horse.  It  went  resistlessly  through  his  neck,  and 
falling  among  the  crowd  about  him,  the  animal  struggled  in  the 
agonies  of  death,  still  farther  adding  to  the  confusion. 

Walton  at  this  moment  sprang  from  the  cart,  and  the  partisans 
gathered  around  him.  The  guard,  considerably  diminished,  now 
collected  for  a  charge ;  but  the  pistols  of  the  partisans,  which  they 
could  now  safely  venture  to  employ,  were  brought  to  bear  upon 
them.  They  recoiled,  and  in  the  moment,  Colonel  Walton  gained 
the  cover  of  the  wood ;  another  found  him  mounted ;  and,  rushing 
forth,  with  a  wild  shout,  he  gave  the  enemy  an  idea  of  the  presence 
of  some  fresher  enemy.  This  was  all  that  was  wanting  to  the  com 
pletion  of  the  confusion.  They  gave  back  —  at  first  they  merely 
yielded  —  then  they  broke  ;  and,  as  the  partisans  beheld  their  advan 
tage,  and  pressed  on  to  avail  themselves  of  it,  the  dismembered  guard 
tied  down  the  road  in  the  direction  of  the  village. 

"Back — back  1"  cried  Singleton  to  his  men,  as  they  were  preparing 
to  pursue.  "  Enough  has  been  done  for  our  purpose  — let  us  hazard 
nothing  in  pursuit." 

Then  turning  to  Colonel  Walton,  in  a  few  brief  words,  he  con 
gratulated  him  on  his  rescue,  but  urged  his  immediate  flight. 

"Humphries,"  cried  he  to  that  officer,  "conduct  Colonel  Walton 
to  the  Cypress  instantly.  I  follow  you  with  the  men.  Nay,  linger 
not  for  me  ;  there  is  more  to  be  done  if  we  delay.  I  will  collect  the 
.  troop." 

They  would  have  paused,  Colonel  Walton  in  particular  —  who 
seemed  determined  to  share  all  the  risks  to  which  Singleton  was  sub 
jected-;  but  the  latter  at  once  put  on  the  authority  with  which  he 
was  invested,  and  sternly  commanded  immediate  and  implicit  obedi 
ence  to  his  orders.  There  was  no  farther  delay.  Walton  was  soon 
out  of  slight,  while  Singleton,  collecting  his  scattered  troops,  fol 
lowed  hard  upon  his  footsteps.  They  fled  in  season  —  just  as  Major 
Proctor,  who  had  now  become  familiar  with  the  cause  of  alarm, 
and  sallied  forth  with  all  the  remaining  garrison,  emerged  from  the 
village. 

The  Briton  found  only  the  remnant  of  the  defeated  guard ;  and  it 


530  THE    PARTISAN. 

was  not  his  policy  to  pursue,  with  so  small  a  force  as  that  under  his 
orders,  an  enemy,  of  whose  strength  he  knew  nothing,  and  who  was 
flushed  with  recent  victory. 

Thus  terminated  the  battle  of  Dorchester.  The  victory  was  with 
the  partisans,  but  they  paid  dearly  for  it.  Five  of  their  men  were 
slain  outright,  and  an  equal  number  wounded.  The  battle  so  long  as 
it  lasted,  had  been  sanguinary  in  the  extreme ;  nor  did  it  terminate 
altogether  with  the  actual  conflict.  The  flames  which  had  ushered 
in  the  conflict  continued  to  rage  long  after  it  was  over ;  and  one-half 
of  the  beautiful  town,  by  close  of  clay,  lay  in  ashes. 

How  sweet  was  the  meeting  of  the  father  with  his  child,  the  day 
of  peril  now  safely  over,  in  the  deep  recess  of  the  Cypress  Swamps! 
There,  on  the  first  tidings  of  the  advantage  gained  by  her  friends,  she 
had  repaired  in  the  hope  to  meet  him.  Nor  had  she  sought  him 
there  in  vain.  He  himself  bore  her  the  first  tidings  of  his  safety ; 
and,  convulsive  with  joy,  and  almost  speechless,  she  hung  upon  his 
neck,  feeble  and  fainting,  with  not  strength  enough  to  speak  her 
emotions.  But  when  she,  looked  round  and  saw  not  her  lover,  the 
thought  of  his  danger — the  doubt  of  his  safety  —  awakened  all  her 
anxieties  anew,  and  brought  forth  all  her  strength. 

"  Tell  me  that  he  is  safe — Robert." 

"  He  is,  and  will  soon  be  here." 

They  had  not  long  to  wait.  He  came,  guiding  her  to  the  spot 
where  her  first  pledge  to  him  had  been  given — where  the  first  kiss 
of  true  love  had  been  exchanged  between  them.  The  pledge,  under 
better  auspices,  was  gratefully  renewed. 

"  And  you  are  now  mine — mine  for  ever,  my  own  Katharine." 

"  Yours — yours  only,  and  for  ever." 

The  eye  of  a  father  looked  on,  and  sanctioned  the  fond  embrace 
which  rewarded  the  partisan  for  his  peril,  and  the  maiden  for  her 
firm  and  filial  devotion. 

"But  this  is  not  a  time  for  dalliance,  my  Katharine.  It  is  enough 
that  I  am  secure  of  your  affections — enough  that  you  are  mine — we 
must  part  now.  Your  father  is  not  yet  safe — not  till  we  get  him  into 
the  camp  of  Marion.  Be  satisfied  that  the  immediate  danger  is  with 
drawn  ;  we  must  try  and  keep  him  from  a  renewal  of  it ;  and  can 


ADIEU.  531 

only  do  so  by  throwing  the  Peedee  between  him  and  his  enemies. 
We  must  part  now." 

"So  soon !" 

' '  Too  soon.  But  we  may  not  linger  here  with  safety.  We  are  still 
in  danger.  This  blow  will  bring  Tarleton  upon  us;  who  rides  like  a 
madman.  Come,  I  will  lead  you  to  your  carriage,  and — 

He  bore  her  away  through  the  copse,  and  no  eye  beheld  their 
parting ;  but  it  was  sweet,  and  it  was  holy.  Her  last  kiss  hung  upon 
liis  lips  with  an  enduring  sweetness,  for  the  long  season  which  inter 
vened  between  that  period  and  the  hour  of  their  final  union.  He 
returned  in  a  few  moments  to  the  Swamp,  and  there  found  the 
maniac  Frampton  standing  upon  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  in  curious 
observation  of  the  men.  He  would  have  carried  him  along  with  the 
party,  and  spoke  to  him  to  that  effect ;  but  the  other  appeared  not  to 
heed  him  :  and  the  only  glance  of  consciousness  which  he  seemed  to 
exhibit  was  when  his  fiery  eye  rested  upon  the  features  of  his  youth 
ful  son.  Singleton  approached,  and  while  persuading  him  to  remove 
with  his  party  from  the  Swamp,  laid  his  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of 
the  insane  wretch.  The  effect  was  electrical.  He  bounded  away 
with  his  demoniac  laugh,  and  plunging  through  the  creek,  fled  in  the 
direction  of  his  wife's  burial-place.  The  partisan  saw  that  nothing 
could  possibly  be  done  with  him,  and  bidding  his  youthful  charge, 
Lance  Frampton,  beside  him,  he  put  his  band  in  motion,  and  hurried 
forward,  once  more  to  unite  witli  Marion  in  the  long  and  perilous 
warfare  of  the  Swamps — kept  up  as  it  was,  until,  step  by  step,  beaten 
to  the  Atlantic  shores,  the  invader  fled  to  his  ships  and  left  the 
country.  But  these  events  are  for  other  legends.  Our  present  task 
is  ended. 

THE  END. 


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SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

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